Occult
by YelloSubmarine93
Summary: Over the last few months, Amber's life had been turned upside down. Werewolves, hunters, visions… And things were only about to get weirder / Part 2 of the Empty Casket Series
1. When Did This Become my Life?

**A/N: A massive thank you to Hurricane.'97 for the review and the love of my stories (yay!). This one's for you, and for all my lovely readers and reviewers, because you make me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

Lydia still hadn't woken up.

Sure, the doctor's said she was fine, and that she would wake up when her body was ready to, had healed enough, but that wasn't entirely comforting when I still didn't know whether or not she was going to be a werewolf when she finally opened her eyes.

Which explains why I was so happy to see Stiles half-asleep in the waiting room to visit Lydia that Sunday afternoon.

I hadn't seen him or Scott since Friday, since the Hale house and everything that went down there, but I knew they had to know _something _about Lydia. Which meant I actually had to _talk to him_. And there weren't any lives in immediate danger.

It was a weird feeling.

"Hey, Stiles!" I greeted cheerfully, dropping down into the seat next to him with my caffé mocha. He startled back to full consciousness with a flinch and a shriek. Several staff members and other visitors swivelled to stare at us for a second, many of them shaking their heads at our innocent smiles, before everyone went back to what they were doing.

"What do you want, Wilson?" Stiles ground out, obviously not impressed by my entrance. I shrugged, just managing to keep from rolling my eyes and holding onto my smile.

"I'm just here to see Lyds," I answered, rifling through my tote to pull out the peanut butter cups I had picked up on my way here. I noticed Stiles eyeing the bright orange packaging in a way that I assume was supposed to be subtle. I smirked, putting my mocha down beside me to tear open the plastic and offer him one. For a second, he sniffed, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest like he was too good for my Reese's. When I shrugged, pulling my hand back and away from him, he quickly reached out and snatched one of the cups, slumping down in his seat as he reluctantly took a bite. I smirked. "How's she doing?"

I chewed for a second, shrugging and tilting his head as he did. "How am I supposed to know?" he asked defensively. "You're actually _allowed_ in the room with her."

I scoffed. "Not that that stopped you and Scott from sneaking in there and checking things out," I shot back, raising my eyebrows challengingly. "Besides," I sighed, sliding down in my own seat and bringing the peanut butter cup to my mouth. "I meant how's she _doing_." I stared at Stiles pointedly, raising an eyebrow when he frowned until his mouth finally dropped open in realisation.

"Ohh," he breathed, nodding his head and shoving the rest of the Reese's in his mouth. "Well, she's not healing." My eyes shot wide open.

"What do you mean, 'she's not healing'?" I demanded, while still trying to keep my voice at a level that wouldn't draw unwanted attention. "That's a bad thing. A very, very bad thing."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Under normal circumstances, Wilson, yes, that would be a very, very bad thing," he mocked, leaning across me to steal my mocha from the seat on the other side of me and take a sip. I made a noise of disgust. "But I meant that she's not healing… supernaturally," he whispered. "Like Scott did."

"So, what does that mean? You said the bite could turn you, or it could kill you, right? And she ain't dead."

Stiles stared at me, unamused. "Brilliant observation there, Sherlock," he taunted, trying to hand me back the now-Stilinski-infected cup of mocha. I refused to take it, until he eventually gave up trying and stood up to throw it away. "Whatever is happening to her," he explained as he returned to his seat, "we at least know she's not turning. Which is great news for us."

I huffed out a deep, loaded breath, crossing my arms over my chest. "Unless that means something worse is happening."

Stiles didn't respond for a long time, and when I finally looked over, I caught him looking at…

"Are you staring at my chest?"

His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, closing and opening again as he tried to, I'm sure, come up with a good excuse.

"N- no, no, I wasn't… I wouldn't…" I raised an eyebrow, waiting as his cheeks grew pink. "Not that… I- I was staring at your necklace," he finally got out, and I heard him huff in embarrassment. "I was staring at your necklace."

My eyebrow stayed put, raised above the other, and I scoffed. "Uh huh."

"I was!" he defended himself, arms flying out to his sides. "When we were here the other night, talking about Kate's necklace, you pointed it out." I remembered. Stiles had started explaining to Jackson and I what a pendant was, because he thinks we're idiots. I mean, not even _Jackson_ is that stupid.

"So what?" I asked, confused as to why it was so fascinating.

"So, I was wondering where you got it. I mean… wolves," he finished lamely, gesturing to my chest. Or 'my necklace', whatever.

"Yes, Stiles. It has wolves on it. And where I got it ain't any of your business."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. After everything we've been through the last couple of weeks? There's still no part of you that feels like you can confide in me?"

I looked at him, exhaling loudly through my nose and pursed my lips. He raised his eyebrow at me as I thought about it, before I smiled. "No." Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes again, his head lolling to the back of the chair with the movement.

"You're hard work," he moaned, huffing in frustration. I just laughed through my nose, leaning forward to pull my phone out of my tote and checking for any new messages.

Nothing. Nada. After Jackson's phone call last night, telling me he'd finally gotten the bite, just like he'd wanted, I hadn't heard a peep from him. It was like he'd dropped off the face of the planet, and if I wasn't so used to this stubbornly and recklessly independent side of him, I'd be worried.

"Was it your mom's?" I heard Stiles ask, and it took me a second to register his words through the Jackson-fog in my head.

"What?" I asked, turning to frown at him as if he was bothering me. Which wasn't exactly off base.

"The necklace," Stiles explained, tipping his head at where I was twirling the end of it between my thumb and forefinger distractedly. "Does it have something to do with your mom?"

I felt my face harden. "Why would you jump to that conclusion?"

Stiles shrugged, a little uneasily. "After what Argent said the other night, about your mom, and everything that's been going on with you lately… it's not an entirely unreasonable assumption to make."

I didn't respond, and eventually Stiles sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"Something's going on with you, something out of the ordinary. And it's probably terrifying and confusing and I can imagine it's totally screwing with your head, but, I mean, come on…" Stiles reasoned, laughing lightly with an outstretched hand, gesturing to nothing but our entire situation. "My best friend is a werewolf. Whatever you're going through, we can deal with it."

"We?" I asked, turning only to raise an eyebrow in his direction.

Stiles frowned at me, confused. "Well, yeah."

"No, Stiles," I argued, shaking my head adamantly. "There ain't no 'we'. There's you and Scott," I pointed out, gesturing over in his direction before gesturing in my own, "and there's me, and Jackson, and Lydia. Allison may blur the lines occasionally, but that's it. There ain't no overall 'we', so stay in your freaking lane."

Stiles scoffed, staring at the ceiling for a second. "Jackson's in your lane?" Stiles asked, like he was going somewhere with this. "So where is he now, huh? Where is he when you're struggling with some major human-identity crisis and his ex-girlfriend is lying motionless in a hospital bed?"

I hated it, but the guy had a point.

* * *

Lydia woke up that evening. After a while of switching between Lydia's bedside and sitting next to Stiles in uncomfortable silence, I finally just had to get up and leave before I started to claw my own eyes out. So I drove home, finished my history homework for Tuesday while Poe played with my blanket on the window seat, and tried to ignore the fact that my phone never once beeped, letting me know Jackson wasn't dead. Yet. Once I got hold of him, he would be.

It did ring, however, when I got a call from Lydia's mom, letting me know she'd woken up, the doctor's said she was fine and healing properly, and that I could come and see her any time. So as soon as I hung up, I grabbed my coat, told Daddy where I was off to and made my way back to the hospital for the fifth time since she was admitted. The route was burned into my brain by this point, and I could probably drive it blindfolded.

If I hadn't shown up at the hospital _exactly_ when I did, hearing that Lydia was finally awake probably would have been the best part of my day. As it turns out, that news was seconded by the sight that welcomed me upon arriving at Lydia's door.

Stiles Stilinski, draped over several of the chairs with a brightly coloured balloon tied to his wrist and what I was pretty sure was drool on his chin. At least, I kind of hope it was. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing so hard I woke him up, clearing my throat when I saw Mr Martin come through the door to Lydia's room.

"Hey, Mr Martin," I greeted, a polite smile on my face. "How's she doing?"

"Well enough for mocking, sarcastic remarks, apparently," he sighed back. I grinned. She was gonna be _just _fine. Mr Martin looked around the waiting room, noticing the same sleeping form I had. He gestures to someone behind me, who I turned and saw to be Scott's mom, Ms McCall, and pointed back to Stiles.

"He's been here all night?" he asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

Ms McCall snorted slightly. "He's been here all weekend," she corrected. We all turned back to Stiles as he grumbled in his sleep, giggling to himself.

"You're dirty," he murmured quietly, and _oh my god_, this was gold. He kissed at the air, and I let out a loud bark of laughter that had him waking up with a jolt and blinking hard before turning his attention to me. I grinned, narrowing my eyes teasingly at him as I stepped closer.

"No, _you're_ dirty," I smirked, my tone as suggestive as his was, and I heard at least two smothered chuckles behind me. I dropped down into the seat beside him, his glare, while not directed at me but still certainly in my honour, boring holes into the floor. "She's awake," I said quietly in lieu of a real apology. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Really? Is she okay?"

"Ms Martin told me she's fine," I answered to a relieved sigh from Stiles. "She should heal up normally, and _naturally_, thank the lord, but other than that, she's fine." Stiles nodded, letting his head roll back onto the back of the chair, blowing out a long breath.

"Good," Stiles breathed, nodding his head and closing his eyes again. "That's good."

I frowned at his tired voice, the slightly darker circles under his eyes. I might not like the guy, but I'm not completely cold-hearted. "I'm gonna get some coffee," I stated, standing up and swinging my bag onto my shoulder. "You want some?" He seemed surprised by the offer, but he quickly got over it, standing up with me and nodding.

"Yeah, sure, I'll come with you," he agreed, the balloon bobbing around enough with his movements to hit his head and grab his attention. "Let me just…" he started untying it, struggling with it as I rolled my eyes, until he finally got it undone, only to struggle with where to put it. I groaned, grabbing the thin blue string from him and tying to the chair arm, pursing my lips as I gestured to it with both hands.

"Can we go now?" I asked, the answer to which was evident in Stiles' eye roll. I turned on my heel, marching down the hallway to where the coffee machine waited, calling to me, and eagerly grabbed a little cup to fill. It's an acquired taste, and with the amount of time I'd spent in here over the weekend, I'd acquired it. Now it almost tasted like real coffee.

Stiles rattled the change in his pocket, yawning as he waited for me to make our coffees and surveying the snacks in the vending machine. I heard the sound of coins clattering together and the pushing of a button. And again. And again. And again. The fifth button push pulled a groan out of me, and I turned around to see Stiles glaring at the machine like it had personally offended him.

"What now?" I asked, shaking my head.

"The damn vending machine won't give me my Reese's," he whined, his shoulder's slumped and a pout on his face. He pounded on the glass a few times, to which I snorted.

"Yeah, because that always works," I mocked, smirking at his responding glare. "I'm sure the tiny vibrations your hand is making on the glass a solid foot away from the actual candy will make the whole, two hundred kilogram vending machine move enough to dislodge the Reese's. Nice thinking, Stilinski."

Stiles glared at me as I filled up the second cup of coffee, until he seemed to take that as a challenge. He let out a little 'huh', before grabbing the top of the vending machine and beginning to shake it. I sighed, my eyes finding the ceiling as I prayed for strength, and took both of the cups of coffee to sit on the seats beside the machines. I figured if I was going to have to watch this, I might as well be sitting comfortably.

"You know that shaking and tilting vending machines without the proper machinery causes ten to thirteen deaths a year, right?"

"Shh," Stiles ordered, struggling to speak as he continued to shake the machine. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Mm hmm," I hummed, stirring my coffee idly as I watched his attempts in amusement. "Because buying candy is just _so_ challenging." He breathed out through his nose in frustration, glaring at me for a second with his hands on his hips before returning to his objective. He went lower this time, pressing his whole body up against the glass and wrapping his arms around as far as he could. Then he began to wiggle.

I snorted, putting the coffee down all together and placing my chin in my hand so I could give his futile endeavours my undivided attention. It was worth it.

When he realised his plan wasn't working, he sighed heavily, taking a few steps back and observing the machine from a distance. He had this calculating look in his eyes, one that quickly turned to frustration and anger, before he lunged at the machine again. He almost growled at it as his hands rocked it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… It stopped going back, instead continuing forward as Stiles quickly jumped out of the way and landing on the floor with a loud, almighty crash.

I looked up at his stunned face, my hand covering my mouth, until his eyes finally looked away from the machine in horror.

"I don't want it that much," he said simply, before jumping over the machine and waving me out of my seat quickly. "Move, move! Someone definitely heard that, and being at the scene of the crime looks bad."

"It looks bad because you did it!" I whispered back harshly, practically power-walking down the hallway, making the round-about journey back to Lydia's room. "I told you that was a bad idea."

"Wha- no you didn't!" Stiles argued indignantly, waving his arms about as he glared at me. I rolled my eyes.

"No, you're right, I didn't," I agreed, tilting my head. "The thing you have called common sense should have told you that." Stiles groaned. And then groaned again, this time slightly more whinier.

"Where's the coffee?" he moaned.

"Oh, my bad," I apologised, a hand to my chest as I stopped and spun around to face him. "Did I forget it when you damaged hospital property and had me flee the scene with you, therefore also including me in your felonious activities and potentially damaging my impeccable reputation?"

Stiles snorted. "'Impeccable reputation'?" he repeated sarcastically. "I'm sorry, am I talking to the same Amber Wilson that was caught in a rather, how can I put this delicately… _suggestive_ position with some jock from the next school over last semester?" I gasped, affronted.

"That was one time!" I argued, and Stiles laughed, ready to, I'm sure, pick out another of my _few_ not-so-impeccable incidents, when the whole argument was interrupted by a loud, piercing scream.

Lydia's loud, piercing scream.

* * *

Somehow, I don't know how, but we managed to lose an injured, naked, sixteen year old girl.

After we'd heard the scream, Stiles and I had raced back to Lydia's room, making it there just as her dad and Ms McCall did too, and we all ran inside to find the bed empty, the shower still running, the bathroom window wide open and no Lydia in sight. Stiles' face had been enough to tell me how bad the situation had just gotten.

He'd immediately called Scott, who had said he'd heard Lydia's scream and was already on his way. So we waited. And waited. Until Stiles had had enough of not doing anything and went to talk to his dad, giving a rather thorough physical description of the missing girl. The Sheriff had glared at Stiles for about thirty seconds, before grabbing him by the back of the neck and telling him to leave. Stiles must have agreed, because the next thing I know, he's waving me over hastily and messily, waving and smiling a goodbye to his dad a little too enthusiastically to be considered normal, and pushing me past the fallen vending machine and back to Lydia's room.

"We need her hospital gown," Stiles whispered to me, leaning 'casually' against the wall beside her door and crossing his arms.

"What?" I asked, completely baffled. "Why on earth would you need Lydia's dirty, bloody hospital gown? Wait. This isn't some fetish thing, is it? Because each to their own and all, but I'm not going to help-"

"It's not a weird fetish thing!" Stiles whispered harshly. He looked around after he'd said it, ensuring that no one was listening before he continued. "It's not a weird fetish thing," he repeated, taking deliberately slow and even breaths. "Scott might be able to catch a scent and find her."

"Ohh," I said, finally getting it. "That's still kind weird though."

Stiles rolled his eyes, tired of me talking. "Just go in there and get it already."

I gaped, making a sound of protest. "Why do I have to get it?"

"Because you're one of her best friends," Stiles argued, already shoving my through the doorway. "It'll be less weird and suspicious if anyone finds us." He pushed me forward a little more until I was standing in the middle of the room before backing out and closing the door after him. "I think it's in the bathroom."

I flipped Stiles off through the wood of the door, before slowly turning around and taking in my surroundings. This was weird. This was weird, right? I was standing in the empty hospital room of my injured, missing best friend, trying to find her blood-soaked gown without getting caught so the guy waiting outside keeping watch, who I didn't even _like_, could give it to _his_ best friend, so he could sniff her out and we could find out whether or not she was turning into a werewolf.

When did this become my life?

I moved straight to the bathroom, opening the door slowly and peeking inside. No, Lydia had not miraculously come back and was totally fine. The window was still wide open, the only route she could have taken to escape undetected, and the floor was slippery under my boots from where she'd gotten out of the shower, still dripping wet. She was probably freezing out there.

I shook my head. Now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time for doing. I snatched up Lydia's gown from the counter beside the sink and quickly made my way back to the door, knocking on it gently.

"Can I come out now?" I stage whispered. I heard the knob twist and moved out of the way so Stiles could quickly push the door open, allowing me to slip through and lead the way far away from Lydia's room. "You know this is technically theft, right?" I pointed out when I heard him right behind me, throwing the gown in his direction. "They're going to realise they're missing the gown, and-"

"They lost a naked sixteen year old girl with a great gash in her side. A missing gown isn't their biggest problem right now, and what are you smiling about?" I quickly reined in the grin, shaking my head and clearing my throat.

"Just, uh… The Great Gashby…" I finished quietly, already regretting it when Stiles groaned.

"God, that was terrible."

"Well, I'm not exactly on top of my game right now, am I?" I argued defensively, crossing my arms over my chest as we waited for the elevator.

"Oh no, you can't blame Lydia." The elevator dinged and we both stepped in, Stiles pushing the button for the ground floor and shaking his head at me. "You brought that terrible pun into the world all on your own. Take responsibility for it." I glared at him for the rest of the ride down to the parking lot. Once the doors opened, we both shot out and made our way to the main doors, and I followed Stiles over to his Jeep, where, as we walked closer, I could faintly make out the outline of Scott. I waited in front of the car, tapping the toe of my boot on the tarmac as I bit my lip. Stiles wrenched the driver's side door open, climbing in but leaving the door open as he spoke quietly to Scott. They talked for a second, before I moved closer, rounding the door stopping next to the driver's seat, so I could hear what they were saying.

"Alright, just shove the thing in your face and let's find her." I shook my head with an eye roll. I always managed to catch the weirdest comments from those two. He turned to me, shooing me away. "You stay here." I gaped.

"What? Why?"

"Because…" Stiles thought about it for a second, before he frowned. "It might be dangerous?"

I scoffed at his ridiculous excuse. "'It might be dangerous'," I mocked, pulling a face as he rolled his eyes and turned on the car.

"Can't you just do as your- wahhhow-" the headlights came on, and I turned at Stiles'… unique shriek to see Allison, standing directly in front of the car. She stood there a minute before moving to Scott's side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, his face close to hers through the open window. "Someone's going to see us."

"I don't care. She is my best friend and we need to find her before they do."

"I can find her before the cops can," Scott argued.

"How about before my father does," Allison challenged, drawing the attention of Stiles and I.

"He's looking for her?" I asked. Allison nodded gravely.

"I just saw him and three other guys leaving my house in two SUVs."

Scott turned to look at Stiles, his eyes wide. "Search party."

"It's more like a hunting party," Allison corrected.

"Get in," Scott allowed her, opening the door and letting her climb over him to the back seat. I raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

"If Allison is going, I'm going." Stiles glared at me for a long moment, as though he were annoyed merely by my existence, before he let out a loud, infuriated groan and jumped out, gesturing for me to climb over the seat as Allison had done. I smiled victoriously at him before I did, and as he returned to his seat and backed out of the parking space. I heard a lot of mumbling and muttered cursing, most of it directed at me.

"So," Scott started, turning around in his seat to look at Allison. "What do they know?"

Allison sighed, ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. "They know Lydia was bitten by an alpha. They know she was having some sort of reaction to it, and that ultimately, she was fine. And they know that now she's gone missing, naked and without any prior indication that anything was wrong."

"How did they know she disappeared?" Stiles asked, trying to both keep his eyes on the road and figure out what to do.

"I don't know," Allison answered on a defeated shrug.

"How are they going to find her?"

"I don't know," Allison repeated.

"Well, if she's turning, will they actually kill her?" Stiles inquired, to Allison's frustration.

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything, okay? All they say is that we'll talk after Kate's funeral when the others get here."

"What others?"

"Oh my god," I groaned.

"I don- they won't tell me that either," Allison answered.

"They're not telling her _anything_, Stiles," I cut in before he could ask another question.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, your family has some serious communication issues you need to work on." He turned to Scott, who had been leaning his entire upper body out of the window this entire time. "Scott, are we going the right way?"

He didn't respond for a second, before shouting, "take the next right!" Stiles took the next right, and we continued on our road trip. I sat back in my seat, taking in a deep breath, and when I opened my eyes, I caught Stiles staring at me in the rear view mirror.

"What?" I asked shortly, already annoyed.

"Don't you have some weird, hoodoo thing you can do to find her?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Stiles."

"No, I'm serious," he argued. "You knew she was in trouble the night of the formal, right?" I nodded, albeit reluctantly. "How did you know?" I shrugged.

"I saw it," I answered bleakly. "I saw it from her point of view, and I could feel everything she was feeling."

Allison frowned at me. "Is that what you meant last week, when you said there was stuff that didn't make sense?" I nodded.

"Next left," Scott ordered. Stiles obliged.

"That kind of stuff has been happening a lot," I explained quietly, more out of self-consciousness than to stop anyone from eavesdropping. "It was the exact same thing the night of the parent teacher conferences, almost like some sort of… premonition, I guess. I felt a car hit me, and then I was fine, but I knew, somehow, it wasn't actually me that the car was going to hit. That's when I saw the Sheriff and realised it was him." I looked over at Stiles' reflection in the mirror, and he smiled at me. "And then again when we were all trapped inside the school, before the ceiling caved in."

"You were totally freaking out," Stiles recalled. "You were looking around like something had frightened you."

"Something _had _frightened me," I pointed out. "I heard the entire ceiling crash down around us before Jackson and Lydia even showed up. It's happening all the time and it's freaking me out."

"How do you do it?" Allison asked, turning to me as fully as she could in the cramped confinements of the back seat. I shrugged.

"I don't have a clue," I answered, thinking about it with a frown. "The only common denominator that I can think of is danger. I don't do anything, I don't think anything or recite a mantra or whatever, but, occasionally, when something happens that results in bodily harm or injury, either to myself or someone in the near vicinity, I see it before it actually happens."

"So you're psychic," Stiles supplied, like it answered all of our questions. I rolled my eyes.

"I ain't psychic."

"I'm just throwing suggestions out there," Stiles reasoned, defending his answer. "I don't see anyone else doing that."

"Stiles," Scott interrupted. "Pull over."

"Where are we?" Allison asked, gazing out through the windshield as Stiles stopped the car.

"Is this…" I recognised this area. I ran it all the time. "The Hale house is just up the hill." Scott nodded.

"She's been here. Recently." We all climbed out of the Jeep, slowly climbing the hill up to the old, ruined building.

"She came here?" Stiles asked as we reached the top of the hill. We both looked back to find Scott and Allison. "You're sure?"

Scott shrugged. "This is where the scent leads."

He continued to make his way up the hill, and I followed close behind until he stopped again. "Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?"

Allison shook her head. "Not with me." He looked to me, and I copied Allison's movements.

"Me either."

I continued walking with Stiles, leaving Allison and Scott to trail behind slowly.

"Well, this is bringing back some wonderful memories," I commented under my breath. Stiles snorted.

"We sure have had some good times here. Finding half a dead body, getting a werewolf arrested, killing an alpha…" he trailed off, sighing heavily as he cast a wincing look up at the house.

"We'll find her, Stiles."

"What if we don't?" he asked, his arms flinging out to his sides. "What if the hunters find her first? Or the cops? If she really is turning, she'll rip them to shreds."

"We'll find her," I said again, pointedly and determined. We stopped, waiting for Allison and Scott to catch up.

"We're stronger in packs," Scott responded to a question I hadn't heard.

"Like strength in numbers," Allison nodded, Scott shook his head.

"No, like, literally stronger, faster, better in every way."

Allison gazed up at the house for a long moment, until a thought occurred to her. "Is that the same for an alpha?"

"I think they think Derek might be… Stiles, what are you doing?" I asked when I turned around to find him not stood beside me, but crouched, creeping along the leafy floor of the preserve.

"There's something… down here…" he got out, his voice laboured with his crouched position and movements. I turned around more fully, intrigued, and moved to crouch beside him.

It was a wire.

"Uh… guys?" I called, just barely looking over my shoulder as Stiles grabbed a light hold of the thin metal. "Come and look at this."

Allison came and crouched on my other side, watching as Stiles held it up for her to see. "I think it's a tripwire," Stiles commented. He pulled on it before anyone could tell him that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but nothing happened.

"Stiles…" I heard from behind us.

"Yeah, buddy?" We all turned around only to see Scott hanging from his ankle.

"Next time you see a tripwire," Scott started, his voice struggled with all the blood rushing to his head. "Don't trip it." I heard a soft giggle from my right, and turned to see Allison with a hand across her mouth and a smile in her eyes.

"Noted," Stiles responded guiltily as Allison continued to grin. Both of them took a few steps forward to help him down, but he quickly stopped them.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," he said quietly, hurriedly. "Someone's coming. Hide." I didn't need to be told twice, already stepping forward to grab both of their sleeves and yank them backwards as Scott continued to shoo them away. I ran down into the tree line, crouching behind a large tree trunk in the shadows, and heard a lot of commotion directly behind me. I turned around to see Allison and Stiles right there. I rolled my eyes.

"Really? There are a thousand trees around here and you pick my tree?"

"Shh," Stiles ordered, pressing a finger to his mouth as I rolled my eyes again. I moved forward just enough to be able to see Scott from where he was hanging, and felt one of my hiding-buddies press against my back to get a better look too.

"Stiles, I swear to God, if-" he cut me off with a hand over my mouth. So I bit him.

"Ow!" He pulled his hand away quickly, glaring at me. "What the hell was that for?" He asked quietly.

"Never touch me again."

"Both of you, shut up," Allison commanded with as little noise as possible, her tone full of authority as she looked around the other side of the trunk. "They'll hear you." I turned my attention back to Scott with one last glare at Stiles, to find he'd been joined by none other than Mr Argent and his hunting party. He crouched down in front of Scott's upside down face, sighing.

"Scott," he said simply.

"Mr Argent," Scott replied.

"How're you doing?"

"Good," Scott answered, nodding. "You know, just… hanging out." I rolled my eyes, barely supressing the urge to slap a hand to my forehead. "Is this one of yours?" Scott asked, gesturing to the wire around his ankle. "It's uh, good. Nice design. Very constricting." Well, I just _wonder_ where Scott got his taste for winding up the volatile hunter.

"What are you doing out here, Scott?" Mr Argent questioned, completely ignoring everything Scott had just said. I didn't realise Allison had moved closer to me until her face was at my shoulder, the three of us crowded around the same side of the tree to see what was happening.

"Looking for my friend," Scott responded truthfully.

"Ah, that's right," Mr Argent smiled. "Lydia's in your group now, isn't she? Maybe 'clique', is that the word you use? Or is there another way to put it?" His voice took on a more threatening tone. "Part of your pack?"

"Actually, clique sounds about right to me."

"Well, I hope so," Mr Argent replied quietly. I leant forward to hear him better, only to have Stiles tug on my jacket and pull me back again, out of sight. "Because I know she's a friend of Allison's, and one special circumstance such as yourself? One I can handle. Not two." I had Allison take in a sharp breath then, and I reached out to find her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "Scott, do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?" _A what now?_

"I have a feeling I don't want to," Scott groaned.

"It's the medical term for amputating somebody at the waist," Mr Argent explained, and my free hand flew to my mouth, disgusted. "Cutting them in half. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to cut through tissue and bone like that." He gestured along Scott's stomach, where the cut would be made, and I couldn't help but feel incredibly sick. "Let's hope a demonstration never becomes necessary."

With that friendly parting comment, Mr Argent got to his feet, leading his goons back the way they had come. As soon as they were out of sight, Allison and Stiles shot up and rushed back to Scott, and I followed behind slowly.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked once they'd reached him.

"Just another life-threatening conversation with your dad," Scott responded cheerily. Allison didn't laugh at his joke, instead checking out the wire around Scott's ankle and following it to a nearby tree trunk.

"Stiles, help me with this," she ordered, and they both walked over to the tree, trying to figure out how to release Scott from his binds. Scott just grinned up at me, and with a swipe of his claws, cut himself down.

"Thanks," Scott smiled, back on his own two feet. "But I think I got it."

* * *

We'd spent all night searching the Hale house and the surrounding grounds, only to come up empty handed. Scott was convinced that Lydia had been there, but aside from the scent that only Scott could pick up, there was nothing to suggest he was right. By the time I finally got home, everyone was asleep and I only managed to get about four hours of sleep in before I had to wake up again and get ready for school.

After hitting the snooze button on my phone alarm three times, it was finally Poe who woke me up with a swift paw to the nose. I grumbled, pushing her off my chest gently so I could finally get up and went to shower, banging on Josh's door to wake him up on my way past. On the way back to my bedroom, Josh came out of his room, still in his pyjamas, and narrowed his eyes at me.

"What time did you get in last night?"

"Late," I sighed. "I was staying with Lydia at the hospital, and then she went missing."

Josh's eyes went wide. "Lydia's missing?" I nodded.

"Yeah. She got in the shower and then just… disappeared."

Josh was silent for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "Shit."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, pushing past him and closing my bedroom door behind me. I pulled on a sweater and some jeans, covering up the circles under my eyes and leaving my hair in its soft waves. I pulled my mom's necklace from where it had been hanging from my mirror, examining it in my fingers. I'd been wearing it every day since the formal. I didn't know if there was even anything special about it, or if it was just the sentimentality of it, but it felt wrong to leave the house without it.

We'd woken up later than usual, so Josh and I stopped by my work to grab coffee and a muffin, eating it quickly during the rest of the quiet drive to school. Stepping out of the car, I saw Stiles and Scott making their way to the front steps, said my goodbyes to Josh and grabbed the coffees from his waiting hands before jogging over to meet them.

"She ate the liver?" Scott asked, and _god_, that was not a good way to start the morning.

"No," I interrupted, closing my eyes and shaking my head at the image that popped to mind. "I try to do a nice thing and bring you guys coffee, and _that_ is how you greet me?" Scott smiled apologetically, taking the coffee I held out for him. Before he could take a sip, however, Stiles ripped it from his hand and sniffed it cautiously.

"What did you do it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. I rolled mine.

"Nothing," I promised, handing Scott another coffee. "I just figured that after our… late night adventure, you guys could use a pick me up."

Stiles shook his head. "No, you definitely did _something_. You don't like me; why would you get me coffee?"

"Because it's polite," I shrugged. "Besides, I like you better than I like Scott right now, and you don't see him complaining."

Scott made a sound of surprise and offence. "What? Why do you like Stiles better than me? I'm the more likable one!"

"Thanks, dude," Stiles smiled sarcastically, patting his friend on the back a little too hard.

"It's the werewolf thing," I whispered, knowing that Scott would still pick up on it, and I saw Stiles' face fall into something akin to empathy. It was a weird look on him. "I don't like it."

"So why did you bring me coffee?" Scott asked, the hurt evident on his face.

I hesitated, shrugging. "Because, like I said, it's polite. Now," I said, turning on my heel and walking up the stone steps, the two of them following me as expected. "Who ate who's liver?" I asked with a grimace, taking a sip from my mocha to take my mind off the statement. I heard Stiles groan.

"No one ate anyone's liver," he argued, and I was sure he was rolling his eyes. "There was a grave robbery last night, and a dead girl's liver is missing."

"'a dead girl', nice," I muttered. "Real sympathetic."

"And you know what," Stiles continued as if he hadn't heard a word I'd said. "So what if she did? It's the most nutritious part of the body."

"I never ate anyone's liver," Scott said defensively. I snorted.

"Sure, Scott, you just tried to attack your best friend," I sang cheerily.

"Actually, hold on," Stiles murmured, slowing to a stop and grabbing Scott's sleeve. I turned around to watch as Stiles frowned at his friend. "You're the test case for this. We should be going over what happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"I mean, what was going through your mind when you were turning, you know?" Stiles explained. "What were you drawn to?"

Scott hesitated. "Allison." Stiles, expectantly, groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, nothing else?" Scott shook his head. "Seriously?"

"Nothing else mattered," he explained. "But that's good though, right? Because the night that Lydia was bit she was with you."

"Stiles isn't Lydia's 'Allison'," I argued. Stiles nodded.

"She was looking for Jackson," Stiles agreed, glaring at just the thought of him as a familiar silver Porsche sped past us to find a parking space.

"Speak of the devil," I smiled, seeing the matching looks of frustration and slight disgust on both of their faces as I walked between them to Jackson's parked car. "And he shall appear."

"Amber," he grinned when he finally got close enough, looking incredibly smug, even for Jackson. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

"Ohh," I breathed, like I'd just realised something. "So that's where you've been all weekend: being abducted by aliens and replaced by a clone." Jackson scoffed, taking my coffee out of my hands and taking a swig.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you back after the thirty five missed calls and seventeen voicemails you left me," Jackson apologised sarcastically.

"Okay, firstly, that is a _massive_ exaggeration," I complained, stealing back my coffee as we walked back towards the front steps where Stiles and Scott still stood. "And secondly, seriously, where the hell have you been?"

"I've been familiarising myself with the ins and outs of my new lifestyle choice."

"So… you've been researching werewolves," I clarified, and by his smirk, I assumed I was correct. "Do you have any idea what's been going on here while you've been stuck in the world of Wikipedia?"

"If you're talking about Lydia, then yes, you've already told me."

"Oh, my bad. I didn't realise you actually read any of the texts I sent you, since you didn't even reply to _one_ of them."

"Like I said," Jackson murmured as we reached Jackson's two favourite teammates. "I've been busy." He blew right past Stiles and Scott without so much as a glance in their direction, and I just rolled my eyes and followed. Maybe Jackson should have stayed MIA.

* * *

I almost fell asleep during most of morning periods, and if Harris didn't love the Wilson name as much as he did, I knew, despite a little time for pick-me-up tater tots during lunch, staying awake in chemistry would be impossible and I'd end up with a week's worth of detention. Lucky for me, Harris knew about Lydia's disappearing act and that we were close, so seconds after I'd walked into the room and taken my seat next to Danny, he'd taken a quick break from handing out the pop quizzes and rested a hand on my shoulder, telling me if I needed anything, just to let him know.

Being the teacher's pet had its perks.

I had my head bent over my test when I caught Jackson hovering over his chair and leaning over the desk, trying to peek at our papers. I looked up, raising an unfazed eyebrow at the usual pout on his face, and smirked. I heard Danny's soft snort beside me, and we both went back to our own quizzes, ignoring Jackson's defeated huff.

"This is a pop quiz, Mr Stilinski," Harris droned, picking out his usual victim from the crowd. Stiles made it pretty easy for him though, muttering the entire time. "If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career." I snorted, turning to my boys and seeing the matching, barely supressed smirks on their faces.

"Can you do that?" Stiles asked, genuinely sounding amazed by the threat.

"There it is again, your voice," Harris responded, shaking his head at Stiles' utter lack of self-control. "Triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly, and violently." The laugh that Danny had been trying to hold back broke free a little, his shoulders shaking as I put a hand to my mouth to hold my own giggle in, and Jackson just let his smirk take over his entire face. "I'll see you at three for detention," Harris ordered, closely followed by "You too, Mr McCall?" when Scott turned around to gape at his friend.

"No, sir," I heard Scott say, and I turned my attention back to my quiz.

"Dude," Danny whispered, and I looked up at him to find him staring at Jackson's paper. On it sat a large pool of black liquid, almost like ink. Looking up, I saw it was coming from Jackson's nose. Danny pointed it out, and Jackson wiped at the black streak coming from his nostrils with a confused frown. "Are you okay?" Danny asked, but before we got an answer, Jackson was up and out of his seat and sprinting out of the door.

I nodded for Danny to reach across and pull the paper closer, examining the black blob. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

* * *

**A/N: So, I know before, but maybe not in this fic, I mentioned that I've started filling in some character questions to get to know my OCs more. I've got (incomplete) profiles for my OCs on charahub (you can find the link to this on my profile), and I've also decided I'm going to start doing questionnaires on tumblr. You can hop on over to the tumblr link on my profile if you want to find out more or want to check that out.**

**If I can keep my promise, you guys can check in every Wednesday for the latest chapter of _Empty Casket II: Occult_. **

**Thanks for the continued support guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	2. To Make Matters Even Worse

**A/N: Excuse the terrible timeline of this story. I don't really understand what's going on, and Teen Wolf isn't exactly the best show for linear and easy-to-understand timelines. My bad.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

I waited impatiently for the bell signalling the end of seventh period, tapping my foot against the bar of my seat and marching out of the room as soon as I heard that sweet, piercing ringing. I only managed to get a few feet down the hall, however, when someone pulled on my sweater and yanked me back until I hit a nearby locker. My instant glare didn't faze Stiles nor Scott, who just stared back at me with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"What's going on with Jackson?" Stiles demanded. I shrugged, my lips pulling down in innocent ignorance.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," Scott said without missing a beat, and I sighed. I'd forgotten about his built-in lie detector.

"I'm going to ask you again," Stiles murmured, taking a step closer and totally ignoring my scowl. "What is going on with Jackson?"

I huffed, pulling my lips in between my teeth and keeping silent. After a few seconds of raised eyebrows and pointed eye contact between the three of us, Stiles let out a great, loaded sigh, flinging his arms out to the side before turning to Scott.

"She's a nuisance!" he exclaimed, to which Scott shrugged, opening his mouth to say something before he stopped, tilting his head as if he was listening to something. He looked down the hall, his eyes searching, and I followed his line of sight until I found Allison, alone by her locker and smiling down at a piece of paper in her hands. From Scott's pleased grin, it wasn't hard to guess that it was from him.

I rolled my eyes and the soppy gesture, leaning back against the locker and turning back to the boys, ready to make my excuses and leave, but when Scott's grin slid off his face, replaced by a frown, I paused. Allison wasn't quite as alone any more, an unfamiliar face smiling at her from his locker. Scott continued to frown, looking too much like a kicked puppy for me to do nothing. I rolled my eyes again, pushing off the lockers and turning in Allison's direction.

"I got it," I told him over my shoulder, knowing he'd hear it over the chatter of the students around us and strolling down the hall. I leant against the locker next to Allison's, smiling at the girl in greeting, and turning to the boy holding the camera. "Who're you?" I asked, not too friendly. He drew back, his mouth hanging open at my obvious distaste.

"Amber!" Allison hissed quietly. Her anger quickly dimmed down, however, when we all heard the muttering from the other side of the hall.

"… her aunt." I looked to where the voices were coming, noting the faces and committing them to memory.

"You mean the crazy bitch who killed all those people?" one of the sniggered.

"Yeah, the fire, all those animal attacks? It was her aunt," the other replied. I saw whatever-his-name-is looking over his shoulder at the girls, staring back at Allison almost cautiously.

"Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English." I narrowed my eyes at the two girls, pursing my lips as I contemplated their fate.

"Find a new seat." Before I could rip anyone's throat out, Allison was storming off, away from the snickers. But, instead of pushing off the lockers and stalking over there to rip someone's throat out, I smiled at them. A cold, threatening smile that told them I wasn't stupid enough to make them regret everything they'd said in the last minute or so right now, but it was coming. With one last quirked eyebrow, I casually strolled back the way I'd came, heading towards my locker, where I found Stiles waiting for me.

"Everything okay with Allison?" he asked, genuinely sounding concerned about his best friend's not-quite-girlfriend, what with her dad threatening to kill him and all. I sighed, spinning in my combination and shrugging.

"Just some snarky girls making not-so-clever comments about Kate," I explained, grabbing my notebook to get some homework done during my free period next. "I'll deal with them later. How'd you know, anyway?"

"Scott," Stiles said simply, rolling the back of his head against the lockers. "Her heartbeat was abnormally fast, apparently."

I wrinkled my nose. "Does that ever stop being weird and kinda freaky?"

"Nope."

Stiles continued to lean there in silence for a few more moments, watching the students pass him with his foot tapping a beat against the floor. I waited, and waited, but nothing happened. I sighed.

"Is there a reason you're still here?"

Stiles balked, then shrugged. "What, I can't stand here in companionable silence until next period?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head.

"But we're-"

"What do you want, Stiles?" I asked, and I raised an eyebrow when he tried to argue again. His shoulders slumped.

"We need to know what's going on with Jackson."

"Then ask Jackson," I smiled, slamming my locker shut and heading to the library.

"Oh, please," Stiles scoffed, quickly following me down the hall. "Like he would ever _grace me with his presence_." I rolled my eyes.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Stilinski," I sang.

"And you would know all about the lowest form of wit, wouldn't you, Wilson?" Stiles smirked back, proud of his own joke. "In fact, I'd take an educated guess and say that you know all about the lowest form of _any_ kind of intelligent remark." I scoffed.

"And how is that assumption 'educated', exactly?" I questioned, pausing and turning on my hell to raise an eyebrow at him expectantly.

"With my amazing observation skills, obviously," Stiles said as if I was stupid. Though, I suppose he thought I was. Mr Harris chose that amazingly opportune moment to come to my aid, opening his classroom door on his way out, stopping abruptly when he saw the two of us.

"Mr Stilinski," he grumbled, like Stiles' presence personally offended him. Stiles just sneered back. "And Miss Wilson," Harris greeted in a much friendly manner, actually smiling. "Not a combination I thought I'd ever see in person." I scoffed, tipping my head in agreement.

"Me neither," I admitted, smiling back at Stiles' insulted gape.

"I was actually wondering if we could talk for a minute," Harris asked, now turning just slightly so he didn't have to acknowledge Stiles anymore.

"Yeah, of course," I agreed. "What about?"

"Just about your latest test scores," he stated, and as I nodded I heard Stiles scoff beside me. I'd bet my car _and_ Poe that he was thinking I'd failed them all miserably. "I've been talking to all of your teachers, and I wanted to set up a meeting between you at the school counselor to talk about possible college scholarships, if that's where you see yourself in a couple of years."

Well isn't _that _a nice surprise. "Yes, I do, definitely," I nodded, and Harris smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good, then I'll get right on that. Tell your father to expect a call from me to schedule a meeting with Miss Morell and I," Harris smiled again, sending a more sarcastic smile in Stiles' direction before turning around and marching down the hall.

Stiles frowned. "How the hell do you get a scholarship?"

"_Possible_ scholarship," I corrected, already turning around and returning to my path to the library. "And because I'm on both the track and the gymnastics teams, I've already signed up for the Cyclone Spirit Club next year, I volunteer to help both the drama club and the music club with productions and concerts, and I take part in community service and local fundraisers, all the while maintaining an A minus average in _every_ class, and having a part time job." I turned to look at Stiles when I reached the library doors, taking note of his astounded face, before smiling and stalking through the doors. Just before the doors swung shut behind me, I heard Stiles' surprised voice.

"How are you not _dead_?"

* * *

I'd been sat on the floor by Stiles' locker for what felt like hours when he finally rounded the corner and saw me waiting.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as he quickly piled all of the books in his locker into his backpack and slamming the locker shut again, already marching down the hall again.

"You're sneaking into Kate's funeral, right?" Stiles stopped, turned back to me, gaping, and tried to defend himself.

"Wha- no… why… what makes you think… no, I am not!"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, I ain't going to rat you out or anything," I promised, holding my hands up, palms facing him. "I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind me tagging along." My voice got higher as I finished the sentence, making it sound like more of a question.

Stiles frowned, almost grimacing. "Really?" I shrugged, a little self-conscious with the way he was studying me.

"Well, yeah," I muttered, looking at me feet. "Despite everything that happened with Kate and my… conflicted feelings about her death, I still want to be there for Allison."

"You have 'conflicted feelings' about her death?" Stiles asked, mockingly.

"Yes," I huffed, feeling more and more defensive as the conversation went on. "She was friendly and charming, and I totally get why she was always like a sister to Allison. Besides, she was the one who told me about my mom." I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. "I owe her for at least that much."

Stiles stared at me for a long moment, his face calculating, before finally nodding. "Come on, I'll drive."

* * *

By the time Stiles and I finished the almost silent drive and crept up to the cemetery through the trees, there was already a mass of photographers and journalists being held back by deputies, and Allison and her parents were seated in front of the closed casket. Stiles looked up and down the tree line, keeping an eye on all of the officers before grabbing my sleeve and pulling me out into the open and to a crouch beside Scott behind a statue, who looked back at us with a smile.

"Hey Amber, I didn't know you were coming," he grinned.

"Apparently there were conflicted feelings involved," Stiles explained with an eye roll. I slapped the back of my hand again against his arm, to which he responded with only a surprised gasp and a glare before turning back to Scott. "Who the hell is that?"

I looked over to the Argents, focusing on the older man that Stiles had gestured to with a nod of his head. I hadn't seen him before, but something told me there was nothing to trust about this Argent either.

Just as the three of us were watching the older man talk to Allison, they both glanced over. The only reaction I managed was to flinch and hunch my shoulders, but lucky for me, the two boys were prepared for my terrible reflexes. Stiles grabbed both of my arms and shoved me to the left enough to hide behind the stone statue, while Scott flung out an arm to keep us both out of the eye line of any of the funeral party. We held our breath for a few seconds, but when no one called out to us or dragged us away by our ears, we figured we were safe.

"You're gonna get us all killed," Stiles muttered, to which I pouted.

"It's definitely an Argent," Scott reckoned, and I nodded my agreement. We peeked around the corner of the statue base again, more careful this time, and after another minute of talking, the older Argent sat down, allowing Allison to peep out of the corner of her eye in our direction. I smiled at her, and saw Scott send her a wave, and she smiled back tightly.

"Hey, you know, maybe they're just here for the funeral," Stiles suggested. "What if they're the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argents." I rolled my eyes. "That's possible, right?"

"Possible, yes," I agreed, not looking away from Allison's miserable face. "Probable? No."

"They're reinforcements," Scott explained, looking back at us with a grim face. We all turned to look at the Argents, the army of hunters, the deadly-

A lot of unexpected movement from either side of me almost made me squeal in fright, and I turned around with my mouth open in shock to see Stiles and Scott being held up at the collars by the Sheriff. The very, _very_, angry looking Sheriff.

"The two of you… unbelievable," he spat between his teeth, before turning his glare to me. "And I expected more from you." Oh, lord. It was that disappointed look that no one ever wants to see. "Get up Wilson. If you're going to hang around with delinquents and act like a delinquent, then I'm going to treat you like a delinquent."

I stood up, pouting and whining. I didn't like getting trouble.

The Sheriff led us back to his cruiser, throwing Stiles in the back and telling Scott and I to follow. We did so, without question or complaint, and sat quietly, waiting for our punishment. After a few minutes of silence and the odd check of my phone, my knee started to bounce. I leant forward from my place in the middle of the back seat, trying to grab the Sheriff's attention.

"Sheriff-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"I don't-"

The Sheriff turned around in his seta with a glare so forceful I fell back into my seat, almost hiding behind the two boys. "What part of 'no' don't you understand?" I pouted, sulking in my seat, and the Sheriff turned back around when the radio buzzed to life.

"_Four-one-five Adam_."

"I didn't copy that," The Sheriff responded through the radio. "Did you say four-one-five Adam?"

"Disturbance in a car," Stiles whispered beside me, leaning across enough that I could hear him without any trouble.

"_They were taking a heart attack victim DOA, but on the way to the hospital something hit 'em_."

"What? Hit the ambulance?" The Sheriff asked, confused.

"_Copy that. I'm standing in front of it now. Something got in the back, there's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere._"

The Sheriff's face looked grim as he replied. "Alright Unit 4, what's your twenty?"

"_Route 5 and Post. I swear-_" I didn't get to hear anymore, as Stiles prised open the car door, incredibly quietly, and pulled me out behind him, sprinting across the parking lot until the three of us were safely hidden in the trees.

"What's going on?" I asked, checking behind us to make sure the Sheriff hadn't tried to find us. Stiles and Scott didn't stop, quickly manoeuvring through the trees.

"We're going to the crime scene," Stiles explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I laughed. "You say 'we' like I'm involved in this." Stiles frowned at me over his shoulder.

"Aren't you?"

"No!" I argued, very nearly stomping my feet. "I need to go, like, now."

Scott stopped to turn to me in surprise. "But-"

"No, no buts!" I shouted, then quickly remembered we were basically _running from the law_ and that maybe I should be a little quieter. "I have work in less than fifteen minutes, and do y'all have _any_ idea how bad it would look on my college applications if I have a _criminal record_?!"

Stiles turned to me, rolling his eyes and sighing. "You're not going to have a criminal record."

"We were trespassing during a _funeral_ and caught by _the Sheriff_, before evading whatever punishment he was about to give us by _breaking out of a police car_!"

Stiles scoffed, smiling. "Okay, first of all, my dad has bigger things to worry about than a couple of irresponsible teenagers hanging out around a funeral for moral support," Stiles explained, ticking off one of his fingers. "And second of all, he probably wouldn't arrest you even if he himself were a witness to your criminal ways."

My eyebrows came down over my eyes in utter confusion. "Why not?"

"Because he loves you," Stiles answered, turning back around and following Scott through the trees. I picked up my pace, trying to stay close in my heeled boots. "You never get into any trouble around here, you've raised money for the station, every time you organise a bake sale you bring a load of the leftovers for all the cops… and let's not forget that time you pushed him out of the way of an oncoming car." I smiled, ridiculously pleased.

"Does your dad like me more than he likes Scott?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles answered without missing a beat, to which Scott let out a loud noise of hurt a few feet ahead. "Without a doubt. He's been trying to bribe me into hanging out with you basically since you moved here. Thinks you'll be a 'positive influence' or something," Stiles said, his fingers making air quotes. I laughed.

"Okay, so there's one problem down," I admitted, still, for some reason, following the boys further into the woods. "But I still have work soon."

"Amber," Scott said, bringing out the puppy eyes. "What if it's Lydia?" I was silent for a second, before I sighed heavily. That one question was enough to me to make up my mind. I took my phone out of my back pocket, sending a text to Joe and telling him I was joining the search party looking for Lydia.

"One of these days, my boss is going to get fed up of my excuses and fire me."

* * *

It had gotten dark quickly after that, and I couldn't tell you if we'd been walking five minutes or five hours. All I know is that when we finally got close enough to see the bright lights of the ambulance and cruisers, I started feeling sick. Not the weirdly, possibly not-entirely-human way I'd been experiencing over the last couple of months, but sick with nerves. What if this was actually Lydia? What if she was turning, despite not healing or seeming at all werewolf-like, and she was _eating people_? Or parts of people, at least. I had enough going on with Jackson; I couldn't handle anymore werewolf drama in my life right now.

We crept along the tree line, staying hidden in the shadows, but close enough to see what was happening as we approached the road. The deputy on the radio hadn't been exaggerating about the blood.

"What the hell is Lydia doing?" Stiles asked rhetorically as we hid behind a boulder in the dirt.

"I don't know," Scott answered, completely at a loss.

"What kept you from doing that?" Stiles inquired. "Was it Allison?"

"I hope so."

"We still don't know it's Lydia," I argued, looking anywhere but the inside of the ambulance.

"You know anyone else around town who can do something like that?" Stiles said. I didn't have an answer for him. "Do you need to get any closer?" Scott took a whiff of the air, before shaking his head.

"No, I got it." He started to back up, to follow the scent, when Stiles pulled him back.

"Just… I need you to find her," Stiles pleaded, looking between Scott and the mess of the ambulance that I absolutely _refused_ to admit Lydia had made. "Please, just… just find her."

"I will," Scott said surely, nodding. With one last convincing smile at the two of us, Scott took off, bounding back through the trees after the scent he had caught.

We crouched in silence for a few minutes before it started getting awkward.

"You know, for a werewolf, he ain't half bad," I joked, smiling as I looked back over at Stiles. His eyes hadn't strayed from the bloody ambulance, and I sighed. "Stiles, he's gonna find her."

"What if he doesn't?" he asked quietly, moving his focus from the ambulance to the forest floor.

"He will."

"But what if-"

"He _will_," I insisted, tilting my head enough to catch Stiles' attention. "When am I ever wrong?"

"Before this afternoon, I probably would have said most of the time, but…" he trailed off, wincing.

"But what?" I asked, curious.

Stiles huffed. "But… maybe you're not as stupid as I thought. If what Harris said is anything to go by, which it usually isn't."

"Lord, you just _cannot_ bring yourself to let me have _one thing_, can you?"

"I really can't," Stiles agreed, shaking his head and shrugging. "I don't know what it is, but I just can't accept that you're anything other than the idea I have of you in my head, no matter what tells me differently." I narrowed my eyes, intrigued.

"So what is it?" I asked, and Stiles frowned at me. "The idea of me in your head. What am I like up there?" I asked, tapping my own temple. Stiles pursed his lips.

"You're stupid, but you knew that."

"Well yeah, that one's a given."

Stiles smirked, laughing through his nose, but continued to voice his thoughts. "You're spoilt. You _hate_ being bossed around, especially by someone you think is inferior to you. You're selfish, greedy, shallow. And really aggressive. _Violently_ aggressive." I thought about it, narrowing my eyes and tilting my head, before nodding.

"Yeah, I think you're pretty much spot on, Stilinski."

"I _knew_ it." I laughed at his victorious outburst, only for the smile to fall off my face pretty quickly when I saw a familiar face glaring at us through the trees. Turns out, we weren't as hidden from sight as we thought we were.

"Uh oh."

"What?" Stiles asked, following my line of sight to see his dad, pointing an angry finger at us and then at the floor at his feet. Stiles groaned, standing up and holding out a hand to help me up too. "I'm gonna be grounded until graduation."

I winced at the way the Sheriff was eyeing us as we climbed the tiny hill on the side of the road. "Yeah, maybe _college_ graduation." Stiles whined, shoving his hands in his pockets as we got closer.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" the Sheriff asked us, his nostrils flaring.

"We were looking for Lydia," I explained hastily, and the Sheriff's icy glare turned from his son to me, and I think I actually took a small step backwards.

"Behind a rock?" he asked, the sarcasm seeping through his tone just as his son had mastered.

"It's my fault," Stiles started, kicking the ground with the tip of his shoe. "When we were…" He trailed off and looked over my shoulder, his mouth hanging open slightly. I followed his gaze, turning around completely when I caught movement behind the trees, until, finally, after a full day of panic and worry and search parties, I saw Lydia. Beautiful, dirty, naked Lydia.

"Lydia?" I heard Stiles call out, almost unsurely. I took a step forward, and then another, watching her tremble in the cold, before I tried it myself.

"Lydia," I shouted, just loud enough to make sure she heard me. And she did. She looked up, searching for the familiar voice, and her eyes finally found us. She stared for a long moment.

"Well," she finally said, spreading her arms wide and showing her body for everyone to see. "Isn't anyone gonna get me a coat?"

I heard rustling behind me, before a loud thump sounded at my feet. I looked down, finding Stiles face-first on the floor and struggling to get back up.

"Get a grip, Stilinski," I muttered, before rushing over to try to save some of Lydia's dignity.

* * *

Lydia had been checked out by the paramedics and admitted back into hospital after she'd wandered out of the middle of the woods, and, apparently, she was fine. They didn't have a clue why she'd ran off, or why a trip through the woods completely naked had seemed like a good idea to her, but she was okay, and that's what mattered.

Well, that and finding out why on earth she'd been feeding off of humans since she went missing.

Although, according to Scott the next day at school, that wasn't exactly how things had gone down.

"So, Lydia wasn't the one who stole a dead girl's liver?"

"No."

"And she wasn't the one who broke into the back of that ambulance and caused that whole mess?"

"No, Amber," Scott promised, his head falling back as he answered all of my questions.

"So if it wasn't Lydia, who was it?"

"An omega," Scott sighed, hiking the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder. I'd come in early to drop Josh off at school for a morning practice, and Scott had stopped me on my way to the library, explaining the situation to me as we wandered through the few parked cars towards the school. It had been a great way to start the morning. "I don't really know anything about it, other than he didn't have a pack, and that he was the one eating dead human parts."

"Gross."

"Also that he's dead now."

"Wait, what? You didn't…"

"No, I tried to talk to him, wanted to help him. But Derek showed up and dragged me away, right before Gerard showed up."

"Who's Gerard?"

"You remember the new hunter that showed up at Kate's funeral?"

"The old guy?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "That's him. He cut the omega in half with a sword."

"In _half_? With a _sword_?"

"Yeah, he just pulled out this massive sword and cut him right across his stomach."

"That's what Mr Argent was talking about the other night." Scott nodded, looking sick to his stomach. "Are you okay?" I asked, concerned. "It can't be fun, watching a guy get cut in half."

Scott scoffed. "You can say that again. To make matters even worse, I'm pretty sure the Argents declared war on all things supernatural." As we neared the doors inside, Scott stopped and turned to me, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stiles told me about your mom. About what happened to her."

Of _course_ he did. "And how is the business-intruding little gossip this morning?" I asked, wondering why I had ever thought it wouldn't get around the small group we seem to have unconsciously and reluctantly formed eventually.

Scott sighed. "Yesterday, when you said you didn't like me, 'because of the werewolf thing', it… I guess it kind of hurt my feelings."

"_Everything_ hurts your feelings. You really should think about growing a thicker skin."

"I'll add it to my growing to-do list," he quipped, before sighing. "I asked Stiles about it, and he told me pretty much everything he knew. We're gonna figure out what happened to her."

"I know what happened to her. Werewolves killed her."

"C'mon, Amber. You've seen what the werewolf killings around here look like. There tends to be a dead body involved."

"Lovely."

"Sorry, I just… I don't think – _we_ don't think someone, a werewolf, would kill your mom and then go through all the trouble of hiding her body. It wasn't just some random werewolf attack, I'm sure of it. There's more to it than that. We just have to figure it out."

"_We_ don't have to do anything."

Scott mumbled under his breath, and for a second, I thought I'd broken him. Then he sucked in a deep breath, nodded, mostly to himself, and looked me in the eye. "I'm a werewolf; the only one that you've had more than a three-sentence conversation with that isn't dead. That makes me the most qualified person you know to help you answer questions that have been messing with your head since your mom died. And if you don't want my help because you're still pretending like we're not all connected now, because you want to cling to the very nearly perfect life you had before all of this happened, then fine, you do that. But when you're done trying to kid yourself into pretending everything's fine and that everything you thought you knew about the world isn't a complete lie, then you come and find me, and we'll figure it out together." He nodded again, pleased with himself, and turned on his heel.

"And how long have you been practising that one in the mirror for?" Scott shrugged as I followed him into the building.

"Only for the past three hours or so."

* * *

"Do I want to know why you have chains in your gym locker?" I asked Stiles as he and the rest of the team passed me on the bleachers on their way out to morning practice. The library hadn't held my attention like it usually does. I blame the early morning conversation I'd had with Scott. Stiles' shoulders slumped, and he took a minute to feel sorry for himself before turning around to face me.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Josh needed a ride for practice," I explained, shrugging. "And then I got a beautifully scarring text from him about your… extra-curricular activities."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's for the full moon tonight," he said defensively, sitting down on the bench below me as Scott jogged across the field to join us. "Last time we had handcuffs, and that didn't exactly go to plan."

"Handcuffs?" I asked. "Seriously? You thought handcuffs would restrain a werewolf during the full moon?"

"Yeah, okay, and I have realised my mistake since then," Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "Ergo, the handcuffs."

"Did you tell her about what happened in the locker room?" Scott asked when he finally reached us, sitting down beside Stiles. I laughed.

"Oh, I know all about what happened in the locker room. First the lacrosse balls Stiles was assaulting you with, now chains…" I shook my head slowly, smiling. "You guys just _love _the kinky stuff, huh?"

"What?" Scott asked, his brow furrowed. "No, not that. The other thing."

"What other thing?" I asked, my smile slipping as I grew worried.

"Scott smelt another werewolf in the locker room," Stiles explained. _Oh, god_, I thought, looking up to search the field for Jackson. I saw him sat on one of the other bleachers, pulling on his gloves next to the guy Allison had been talking to at her locker yesterday.

"It was kind of like a scent, but I couldn't tell who it was."

"Well, what if you could get him one on one?" Stiles asked, and I could almost hear his mind at work. "Would that help?" Scott thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Okay. I think I got an idea." With that, Stiles shot up and ran across the field, talking animatedly with Coach for a minute, his arms flying around as he tried to pitch something to a sceptical looking Coach. After a shrug and a reluctant nod from Coach, Stiles grabbed some things from beside Danny and raced back, dropping everything in his arms at Scott's feet. "I told Coach that you're switching with Danny for the day."

Scott frowned at his best friend. "But I hate playing in goal," he complained. Stiles just rolled his eyes.

"Remember when I said I had an idea?" Scott nodded, and Stiles gestured at Danny's goalie belongings with his hands. "This is the idea."

"Ohh," Scott murmured slowly.

"There we go," Stiles sighed, relieved that Scott was beginning to understand before it became apparent that, actually, he wasn't.

"What's the idea?"

Stiles shook his head slowly. "I seriously don't understand how you survive without me sometimes."

Before Stiles could further explain his plan to a confused Scott, Coach blew his whistle and started bellowing at the lacrosse players." Let's go, line it up. Faster!" The boys all lined up, Stiles and Scott talking quietly for a second before the latter headed for the goals. "Make Daddy proud."

The next few minutes passed in a spectacular blur of Scott throwing himself at players and – not even _subtly_ – sniffing them. It was really, _really_ hard to watch. And I've seen some terrible things in my short time in Beacon Hills. When I saw Danny's jersey number next in line, I had to look away, only turning back to see Scott sniffing him after the sympathetic groans from the rest of the students on the bleachers had died down.

And that's when I saw Jackson, standing at the front of the queue and hesitating. I waved my arms a little, pulling his attention from the Danny-Scott heap on the floor and to me, where I swiped my fingers across my throat quickly, shaking my head. After taking another look at Scott pulling Danny up off the floor, Jackson nodded at me, and spoke to Coach for a second before pulling out of the line and heading towards me.

"What the hell is McCall up to?" he asked as soon as he was in hearing distance, pulling his helmet off and sitting beside me. I opened my mouth to answer him, before I remembered Scott's super-sensitive hearing, and that neither he nor Stiles know about Jackson. Yet.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said instead, unlocking my phone and typing out a quick 'later' and showing it to him. He nodded, handing the phone back to me, and sitting where Stiles and Scott had sat a few minutes earlier. By the time the two of us returned our attention to the practice in front of us, Scott had found another victim and the two were currently crouched in front of the other, staring, sticks lying abandoned besides them. That's when the police showed up.

* * *

"They trust you," Jackson argued quietly, and I snorted, raising an eyebrow. Jackson rolled his eyes. "Okay, sure. But they trust you more than they trust me."

"That really ain't a hard feat, Sonny."

Jackson groaned, though either at the comment or the nickname, I couldn't be sure. "Just go," he muttered, shoving at my shoulder until I gave in with a growl and moved towards the duo.

"His father's dead," I heard Scott say, his eyes trained on the Sheriff and one of the lacrosse players as he was led away. I vaguely recognised him, but I couldn't place where from. "They think he was murdered." I took a few more steps closer, pushing into the conversation and receiving a patent-pending Stilinski Eye Roll for my efforts.

"Who is he?"

"Isaac Lahey," Scott answered, not looking away from the retreating figures. "He's on the team, and the werewolf I smelt earlier on."

"Lahey," I repeated quietly, realisation hitting me in the face. Jackson's neighbour. "Oh, I know who he is, now."

"Lucky him," Stiles muttered sarcastically. I scoffed. "Are they saying he's a suspect?" he asked Scott, who slowly shook his head.

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours," Stiles answered, and I sighed when I realised what that could mean for a werewolf tonight.

"Like, overnight?" Scott asked, already knowing the answer and all the trouble that came with it. Stiles nodded.

"During the full moon."

Scott hesitated. "How good are these holding cells at holding people?"

"People? Good," Stiles answered, nodding. "Werewolves? Probably not that good."

"Stiles, do you remember when I said that I don't have the urge to maim and kill?"

"Yeah," Stiles responded slowly and unsure.

"He does."

* * *

Chemistry was a nightmare.

Harris had his back to the class as he drew a few molecular structures on the board, and I was too busy wondering how on earth I'd managed to get dragged into all of this werewolf business in the first place to pay any attention. I'm pretty sure Allison was to blame. I should've known that girl was trouble. To make matters worse, I'd lost Jackson for the second time in less than a week. He'd been stopped on our way here from our free period by Harris, who had told him he was needed in the principal's office, and I hadn't seen him since. I could only assume it had everything to do with his friendly neighbour werewolf and his murdered father. Which couldn't equal anything good.

Scott and Stiles were doing their usual too-loud-to-be-considered-whispering as they tried to piece together the puzzle and figure out a way to help Lahey. I saw Danny give them the odd strange look as he pulled out his textbook, but when he looked at me I simply shrugged, rolling my eyes. He smiled, shaking his head at the duo until the more annoying of the two spun around in his seat and started hissing at us.

"Where's Jackson?"

"In the principal's office," Danny answered truthfully, for some reason. "Talking to your dad."

Stiles eyes widened comically at that. "What? Why?"

I huffed as Danny rolled his eyes. "Because he lives across the street from Lahey, dumbass."

"Witness," I heard Scott say like everything had just started to make sense.

"We gotta get to the principal's office," Stiles said.

"How?" Scott asked, and I closed my eyes on a sigh, praying that they weren't about to do something monumentally stupid.

Can you believe it? They did something monumentally stupid.

I heard Harris tell everyone to turn to the relevant chapter in our textbooks just a balled of piece of paper flew from Stiles' hand to the back of Harris' head. He whipped around, scanning the room as some of the stupider students in the room giggled. "How in the hell did that?"

Immediately, his eyes landed on Scott and Stiles, who responded by pointing a finger at the other. I swear, these boys are going to annoy the wrong person one day and get themselves killed.

The bell was only a few minutes from ringing by the time Jackson came back, his face annoyed as he made his way through the tables to our desk at the back.

"What the hell were Dumb and Dumber doing outside the principal's office?" he asked me, as though he already knew that I knew.

"They decided it would be fun throwing paper balls at Harris," I answered back, suggestively moving my eyes over to Danny's form, hunched over his notebook, before widening my eyes at Jackson until he finally got it. "Don't ask me why." A few minutes of me pretending to work, Jackson pretending to not be dying on the inside at not knowing what was going on and Danny pretending not to notice the two of us were acting weird later, the bell finally rang. Jackson and I immediately got up from our seats, waiting until we were finally in the crowded hallway and headed towards his locker before he spoke.

"So what's going on?"

"As you probably already know, Isaac's dad was murdered."

"Yeah, pretty much everyone in Beacon has heard that," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Get to the point."

"Watch the attitude," I warned, poking him in the chest with a finger. He barely moved, only raising an eyebrow at me, and I continued. "Scott smelt a werewolf in the locker room this morning."

Jackson's eyes widened. "Me?"

I shook my head. "No, because you have excellent timing. I don't know how Scott didn't smell it on you, but I guess your smell and Isaac's mixed, and once Scott realised Isaac was a werewolf, why would he think to look for another?"

"So they don't know about me?" he clarified, asking as though he'd expected me to tell them everything about Jackson's new lifestyle choice.

I raised an eyebrow. "They know even less than I do," I promised, though soothing his ego was not what I wanted to be doing right now. With the way he'd been acting since the formal, he deserved a lot less than my total loyalty right now. "And it's going to stay that way until something drastic happens."

"Until?" Jackson repeated, his amusement at my choice of words evident on his face. "You make it sound like you're waiting for the shit to hit the fan." I scoffed, turning around and leaving him to head to economics.

"That's because I am, dumbass."

* * *

Scott didn't show up for economics. I took my seat at the back of the class, and just as Jackson sat at the desk beside mine, I heard my phone vibrate from its place in my bag on the floor.

**Lydia – ****_Your best friend is a dick and I hope he gets hit by a bus._**

Harsh. But probably justified.

"What did you do this time?" I asked Jackson, turning in my seat to face him fully. He scowled at me.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lydia," I answered. As _if _he didn't know exactly what I was talking about. At my answer, Jackson smirked a little, returning his attention to the front of the class as Coach settled behind his desk.

"I just made sure she knew that we're never getting back together," he replied, smug grin still on his face. "I didn't want her to think that saving her life meant I still had feelings for her."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You can lie to her all you want, but I saw you that night," I reminded him, and the grin fell just enough to confirm my suspicions. "I saw the tears in your eyes when you saw all the blood and how freaked out you were. So don't think for a _second_ that you can lie to me about this, Whittemore." Jackson scoffed back at me, but otherwise ignored every word I had said, pretending to pay all of his attention to Coach as he clapped his hands together and started the class.

"Okay, guys, pages 43 in your textbooks, and quickly, because I am not in the mood for- Stilinski!" Coach cried, and I looked up to see said student skidding to a stop just inside the door to the classroom. "So glad you decided to grace us with your presence! Where's McCall?" Stiles gaped, frowning as he looked around the room, and I assumed he was asking himself the same question. Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, his eyes finally landing on me as he struggled.

"McCall went home, Coach," I answered, and he turned around to face me with a quizzical expression. "He wasn't feeling well."

"Ah, it was probably all that running he wasn't supposed to be doing at practice this morning," Coach muttered, mostly to himself, before gesturing erratically for Stiles to sit down so he could start the lesson. He did, taking the empty seat in front of mine and instantly turning around to face me.

"Scott went home?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? He's your best friend." Stiles frowned, and I sighed. "Last I saw, he was headed to the principal's office with you."

"You haven't seen him at all since?" I shook my head at Stiles' question, and his shoulder's slumped. "He left the office ages ago. He should be here."

"Maybe he really did go home," I suggested, not liking the look of complete unknowing on Stiles' face. He's usually very open about the fact that he knows _too_ much. "Try and get a head start on the Isaac situation?" Stiles shrugged, running a hand over his face, and opened his mouth to respond when he stilled, throwing a glance over to Coach, who's attention was on Greenburg's inability to find the correct page, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He let out a long breath, tapping on his phone.

"It's Scott; he's with Derek," he explained quietly, shooting a quick look at Jackson, who was too busy smirking at Coach and Greenburg to pay us any attention, and continued. "He said they're going to Isaac's house."

"What?" I asked, wondering what it was with these boys and crime scenes. "Why?"

"I don't know, he said he'd explain later." Stiles slid down in his seat some more, seemingly calmer.

"I wouldn't relax too much, if I were you," I warned, and Stiles groaned. "You might have found Scott, but in case you've forgotten, tonight is the full moon. Not only will you potentially need to _chain_ Scott to something, you've also got Isaac, the fresh, baby-faced werewolf, locked in a holding cell in a station full of blissfully unaware cops."

Stiles huffed, running both hands over his face as his head slumped back. "Tonight is gonna be _awesome_."

* * *

**A/N: P.S. I know nothing about how college scholarships work in the US, but I just wanted to make a point of the kind of life Amber is still desperately clutching to in the whirlwind that is Beacon Hills at the moment.**


	3. A Supernatural Curveball

**A/N: So sorry I missed the update yesterday, but better late than never!**

**here's talk of and a (sort of) description of a seizure in this chapter, since this is where we first meet everyone's favourite she-wolf, the beautiful and greatly missed Erica Reyes. I don't know if any talk of seizures is upsetting to any of you, so I'm just giving fair warning now. Also, I don't suffer from epilepsy myself, and neither does anyone I know, so everything I've written about them comes from Teen Wolf and my own basic knowledge of the condition. I may have gotten things wrong, so if I have, corrections would be greatly appreciated from anyone with more knowledge than I. In addition, Kate is brought up, and there's some not very nice words about her mental health. Just another warning. At times, it kind of sounds like Amber is really dismissive of these people and their suffering, and I don't want it to come across as offensive, so I'm really sorry if it does.**

**Also, again with the timeline. I genuinely believed that the Erica transformation took place in one day, but as I re-watched the episode to write this chapter, I realised that probably wasn't the case. However, we'll just pretend it was. Awesome.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

"_Eliminating the threat_, those are the words he used?" I asked Allison over the phone as I sat in my car in the school parking lot.

"Yeah, those words exactly," she clarified, her voice hushed and breathy. "I'm pretty sure they're not really looking to give him much of a second chance."

"Oh, dear lord."

"Tell me about it," Allison agreed. Slumping back in my seat, my eyes settled on the rear-view mirror, where I could see the big doors slam open and Stiles barrel through. _Just the guy I wanted to see_.

"Okay, Stiles is here, give me a second."

I quickly opened my door and hoped out, catching Stiles' attention as I slammed it shut and rounded the car to meet him at his Jeep. He frowned at my probably unexpected presence at the school so late, so I pulled the phone away from my ear and put it on speaker.

"Allison?" I called out, making sure she could hear me.

"Yeah, I'm here. You got Stiles?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered for me, his frown deepening. "What's going on?"

"My dad and Gerard is what's going on," she replied, her voice laced with anger. "They kept asking me questions about Lydia and how she was bit by Peter. And then they sent this guy out-"

"Wait, what?" Stiles interrupted, his face stricken. "What guy?"

"He was dressed as a sheriff's deputy," I answered, and his mouth fell open in the same realisation that had hit me a few minutes ago when Allison had first told me. They would walk right through the station and no one would even notice something was wrong until Isaac turned up dead.

"They've sent him to get Isaac," Stiles said, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"He was also carrying a box with something on it, like, uh…" Allison trailed off, thinking. "Like a carving, or something."

"Well what was it?" Stiles asked impatiently, his foot tapping against the tarmac.

"Hold on, hold on, it's in one of these books." Allison's end of the phone went quiet for a moment as she tried to figure out what the carving was of, and Stiles grew more anxious by the second. "Amber, I'm sending you a picture."

A second later I received the message, opening it up and staring at the picture Allison had sent. My mouth fell open. "Is that…"

"Yeah, Wolfsbane," Stiles finished for me, sighing.

"What does that mean?" Allison asked, her tone suggesting she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know.

"It means they're gonna kill him."

* * *

"I'll do what I can to slow him down, but I'm not sure I can be much help without actually killing him," Allison said, her voice panicked.

"Just do whatever you can, Ally," I pretty much begged, watching as Stiles sped down the road far too quickly to be legal on our way to the police station. "And be careful."

"I will," she promised, and I ended the call with her only to call someone else seconds later. When Jackson didn't answer, I tried again. And again. On the fourth try, it didn't even ring three times before it went to voicemail. I scoffed.

"The dick declined my call," I explained at Stiles' frown, and I left him a message. "Okay, Sonny, when you're done being a complete ass, could you please call me back? I need your help."

I hung up again, throwing my head back against the seat with a sigh, and I watched as Stiles took a corner I wasn't expecting him to make.

"I thought we were going to the station."

"We are," Stiles explained. "We just have to make a quick stop along the way."

I rolled my eyes. "You better not be stopping for a Big Mac." Stiles scoffed.

"Please," he complained. "If I'm gonna stop in the middle of a life or death situation to grab some fast food, it's going to have to be something better than a Big Mac. A burrito, maybe."

I shook my head, about to make a comment about his priorities and how Big Mac's are _much_ better than burritos, when my phone buzzed in my hand. For a split second I thought Jackson had grown a conscience and called me back, but the name along my screen read _Ally Argent _instead of the _Sonny_ I was hoping to see. I picked up, and put her on speaker.

"Hey Ally," I greeted.

"Did you slow him down?" Stiles asked. Apparently there was no time for manners tonight.

"You could say that…" our resident huntress answered cryptically. Stiles looked over to me, an eyebrow raised, and I just shrugged, none the wiser.

"Okay, well we're on our way to the station now," Stiles continued.

"Where's Scott?"

"Still at Isaac's," I answered as Stiles took another turn.

"Does he have a plan?"

Stiles scoffed lightly. "Yeah, but not a very good one. And, unfortunately, we don't have enough time to come up with anything better."

"That sounds promising," I muttered.

"What's the plan?" Allison asked. Stiles sighed.

"There's a duffel bag; it should be with Scott, at Isaac's house. You're gonna need to use the chains in the bag and lock him in a freezer."

It was quiet on both ends of the phone for a second, before Allison and I answered with a simultaneous "what?"

Stiles sighed again, shrugging. "He'll explain the plan to you when you get there, just hurry up," he ordered, glancing up at the full moon. "We don't have much time left. He said he's in the basement."

"Okay," Allison said unsurely, huffing out a breath. "I guess I'll talk to you guys later. Be careful, guys. That hunter has an arrow in his thigh, so he's gonna be pissed." Before I could ask her about the arrow, and why on _earth_ she didn't aim for the knee just for the sake of a good joke, she hung up. Stiles just shook his head.

"Remind me to never get on her bad side."

* * *

Apparently, our stop along the way was little old Derek Hale, who I hadn't seen hair nor hide of since the night of the formal. Well, unless you're counting the dream I had with him and Jackson, and I certainly wasn't. I climbed over the seats when we pulled up beside him, allowing him to ride shotgun (with only a weird, distasteful look in my direction in lieu of thanks), and before the door had even shut we were off again. The ride was silent, everyone a little too preoccupied with tonight's events for idle chitchat.

We stopped outside the station a few minutes later, and Stiles turned in his seat to face Derek and I. "Okay, the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father's office. The problem is getting past the front desk." He gestured towards the wide windows of the building, were I could see the deputy there.

Derek took one look at the deputy and moved to get out of the car. "I'll distract her."

"Woah, woah, woah, you?" Stiles asked, a hand bunched in the shoulder of Derek's jacket to stop him from moving. Derek looked back slowly, raising an eyebrow at Stiles' hand. "You're not going in there." Derek continued to look between Stiles and Stiles' hand, until, finally, he caught on, and quickly removed his hand. "I'm taking my hand off."

"You know, Mr Hale, you're kind of terrifying," I admitted, smiling innocently when he turned to look at me with that same, odd look on his face. He turned back to Stiles, his eyebrows still raised.

"Why can't you be more like her?" he asked, before sighing. "I was exonerated."

"You're still a person of interest," Stiles argued.

"An innocent person."

"I- you? Yeah, right!" Stiles laughed, and from Derek's unimpressed face, I don't think he appreciated the insinuation behind Stiles' words. "Okay, fine," Stiles gave in. "What's your plan?"

Derek frowned, frowning back at me for a second before looking at Stiles like he was a three year old. "To distract her," he said slowly.

"Uh huh, how? By punching her in the face?"

"Oh, my lord," I muttered, a hand coming up to cover my face as I sighed. Derek laughed, _very_ sarcastically.

"By talking to her," he explained, and, I'll admit, the scary guy's plan actually made some sense.

"Okay, alright, give me a sample," Stiles continued, and if he didn't stop talking soon Derek was probably going to hurt him. "What are you going to open with?"

"Stiles, are you seriously still talking?" I asked, incredulous. Derek remained silent, and Stiles sighed, nodding his head slightly.

"Dead silence. That should work beautifully."

"Stiles, please stop talking," I begged, but of course, he didn't listen.

"Anything other ideas?" he asked Derek.

"I'm thinking about punching _you_ in the face," Derek answered, and I couldn't tell whether Stiles was more scared or offended by the comment. Derek got out with one last parting grin, and after a huff, Stiles followed, holding the door open for me to climb out. We walked in behind Derek, Stiles creeping the entire way even though there was no one to creep by yet, and waited as Derek walked up to the front desk, leaning against in casually.

"Good evening," the deputy said as she wandered out of the back room. "How can I help…" she trailed off as she looked up at Derek, and, I have to admit, I'd be pretty dazed too, if I was presented with _that_ smile. "…you?" I let out a quick, appreciative gush of air, and Stiles rolled his eyes at me.

"Hi," Derek said simply, and it was enough to grab every ounce of attention that deputy had in her.

"Hi," she responded brightly. I heard Stiles scoff beside me.

"Uh, I have a question. Uh… sorry," Derek apologised bashfully, that brilliant smile still on his face. "I'm a little thrown, I wasn't expecting someone…" Stiles gestured forward with his hand, and slowly crept along the wall.

"Like, me?" the deputy asked, and Derek laughed a little.

"Uh, I was gonna say 'so incredibly beautiful', but, yeah, I guess that'd be the same thing." Okay, I could pretty much _hear_ the eye roll coming from Stiles at that.

We crept past the front desk, bolting it through the door at the last second, and breathing great sighs of relief once we were finally in the clear. Stiles led the way to his dad's office, moving quickly and quietly, and my phone buzzed in my hands with a message as we entered the room.

**Ally Argent – _Done. Scott is locked in a FREEZER(!) and I am freaking out. Let me know how everything goes on your end._**

Stiles looked back at me for a second, his mouth open in shock. "Are you really _socialising _right now?" I glared, shoving my phone into my jeans pocket, and holding my now empty hands up to show him.

"It was Allison, letting us know that Scott is cozied up in the Lahey's freezer." Stiles nodded distractedly, glancing around the room and heading over to the lockbox on the wall.

"Good. It should restrain him until the moon goes-" he stopped suddenly, and my stomach sank.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

He turned around, showing me the open, and empty, lockbox. "Someone already has them," he said, and we both turned around and rushed back out of the door and into the hallway.

"Where's the holding cell?" I asked him as we strode through the winding halls, staying a step behind him so I could follow his lead.

"It's just around-" we both stopped as we rounded a corner and almost walked right into a deputy. "Oh, uh…" Stiles stammered, my eyes falling closed as Stiles tried to think up any excuse. I sighed, opening them, and something caught my eyes. Something metal, sticking out of the deputy's thigh.

I swallowed, tugging on Stiles' sleeve until I realised that he had seen it too.

"Oh, shit."

Before either of us could move, the 'deputy'/hunter had already grabbed Stiles by the sleeve and tugged him back, quickly wrapping hand over his mouth. I opened my own mouth, about to call out to Derek, when he held up the syringe in his free hand.

"Did you know Wolfsbane is also poisonous to humans?" the hunter asked me, holding up the syringe so I could clearly see the liquid inside of it. "I can get the werewolf later, should I… run out of Wolfsbane," he warned. He raised an eyebrow, challengingly, and I sighed. "One noise from you, and this goes straight in his neck. Got it?" I nodded, sending a look of apology to Stiles, who just seemed to accept our fate with a huff, and the hunter nodded me ahead of him. "You go first. And, in case you decide to make a run for it, try to remember that I'm essentially holding your friend's life in my hand."

"I still don't know if I'd call him a _friend_,exactly," I muttered as I walked on ahead, and the hunter groaned as if he realised he'd been stuck with the talkative hostages. "But I get your point."

"Good to know," he muttered.

"Also, I don't actually know where we're going," I admitted, strolling casually down the hall as though Stiles wasn't inches from possible death behind me. I _really_ hoped Derek was listening to us right about now.

"To the holding cells," the hunter answered on a sigh, and I rolled my eyes. Turns out, hunters don't have to be the brainiest of the bunch.

"I know that, dumbass. Jeez, I meant I don't know the direction in which the holding cells _are_."

The hunter grunted, and I slowed to a stop, spinning around to face him with a shrug.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he warned.

"No, but you also didn't tell me which way to go," I countered. I pouted in thought, shrugging again. "Maybe the jackass you have there and I should swap places. I'm sure he knows the station like the back of his hand."

"Nice try, sweetheart, but that's not happening."

"Don't ever call me sweetheart again." What good was an alpha werewolf as back-up if he didn't actually help you when you needed him?

"Just take a right, before I get bored and decide to attempt to poison the both of you with one syringe."

I huffed, spinning back around and walking up the hall, taking a right. "Just FYI, that's incredibly unhygienic." I heard the guy huff again.

"Do you really think I care about hygiene?"

"You? No, not at all; I smelt you before I saw you. I, on the other hand-"

"Okay, listen, I'm only going to say this once," the hunter said, his voice low and angry, and, okay, maybe aggravating the vicious, potential teenage-werewolf killer with a sharp, poison filled object at Stiles' throat wasn't the best idea. I didn't stop walking, figuring that maybe getting it over with would be the best way about this now. "If you open your mouth to do anything other than breathe one more time, I'm going to poison this one, and then find some other, probably less efficient but no less enjoyable, way to kill you. You got that, _sweetheart_?" I sighed, folding my arms over my chest, and nodded. "Good. Okay, how about we all just- oh, for the love of God-"

Stiles, being the brilliant genius I'm sure he'll one day prove himself to be, had grabbed the fire alarm while the hunter was busy focusing his threats on me, pulling it and causing the loud ringing and flashing lights to flood the hall. At that point the hunter kind of just threw Stiles forward, the momentum shoving the both of us through an open doorway. Stiles regained his footing and grabbed my arm, pulling me further into the room as the hunter glared at us.

"The two of you are more hassle than the goddamn arro-" the hunter didn't finish his sentence, his attention drawn instead to something behind us. Stupidly, because it definitely could have been a trick to distract us and kill us both, we turned around to see that he was staring at a holding cell, the door of its hinges and the inside without an occupant. The two, in my mind, only equalled to one thing. And that one thing was confirmed when I heard a yell from behind me. Stiles and I both swung around, taking a few massive steps back as we watched Isaac – the wolfed-out version – throw the hunter into a wall, releasing the syringe from his grip and smacking his head back against the concrete wall, knocking him out.

That's when his attention was turned to us.

"Okay, that's not good," Stiles muttered under his breath, and I could barely keep myself from rolling my eyes at the obviousness of the statement. But with the werewolf currently scrutinizing Stiles and I like a dog would a squirrel, now didn't seem like the best time to take my eyes off of the human-predator in front of us.

"Do we… do you think he recognises us?" I hoped aloud, and Stiles almost laughed.

"My best friend tried to kill me several times when he first turned," he said, grabbing my arm again and pulling me to the side so the desk stood between us and Isaac, just as, thank _everything that is good and holy in the world_, Derek burst through the door, smashing the abandoned syringe on the floor with his boot and drawing Isaac's attention away from us. For a second, at least, until Isaac decided we were far more interesting and crouched, ready to launch himself at us, and I thought, _this is it, this is how I'm going to die_. I took another step back, hitting the wall behind me and feeling it tremble when Derek roared, his eyes a bright red, throwing Isaac into a heap of shivering submission on the floor. I actually whined in relief when Isaac looked back up at Derek, terrified, and his face was back to normal, and I didn't realise I was sliding down the wall until I hit the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Stiles sagged forward, leaning against the desk like he couldn't keep himself upright.

"How did you do that?" Stiles asked.

Derek smirked over his shoulder at us, his eyes a much more human blue. "I'm the alpha."

* * *

"You should go with them," Stiles murmured, gesturing to Derek and Isaac as they left the room, intent on getting as far away from here as possible before the rest of the sheriff's department showed up. "I can explain everything to my dad."

I shook my head, my arms wrapped around me as I sat on the desk. My legs hung over the side, short enough that my feet didn't hit the floor, and I swung them under the table and back out, the sensation oddly comforting. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay." I sniffed, looking up at Stiles with a small smile. "Werewolves," I said, like it explained everything, and from Stiles' face, I guess it kind of did.

"Okay, well, if that's the case, we better get our stories straight." I scoffed.

"Sure. Let's just add _obstruction of justice_ to our records, shall we?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "We can tell them werewolves did it, if you'd prefer."

I smiled sarcastically, and then the ringing all around us stopped seconds before the sheriff entered the room, a few deputies not far behind. He looked down at the unconscious 'deputy' on the floor, before his eyes found Stiles, and he raised his eyebrows in question. The younger Stilinski looked around for a second, noting the fake deputy, the ruined cell door and the missing murder suspect, before finally settling on, by far, his finest argument to date.

"He did it."

* * *

"But it wasn't a werewolf?" I asked Allison, holding the phone between Stiles and I as he drove us back to the school so I could pick up my car. "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent sure," Allison said, her voice trembling less now than it had been at the beginning of the phone call. "Firstly, I'm pretty sure it was green."

"And scaly," Scott cut in from Allison's end. Turns out, when the girl you love is screaming upstairs and in mortal danger, even the full moon and a chained freezer can't keep a werewolf away. He was in total control, even with the moon still full and round and high in the sky. "There were definitely scales."

"So, what, it's some kind of reptile?" I asked, and Stiles just groaned.

"As if werewolves weren't enough trouble for us, the universe just _had_ to throw us a supernatural curveball."

* * *

"And then he takes the bag off my head, and my dad is sat across my, gagged and tied to a chair too!" Allison exclaimed as we made our way into the gym from the girls' locker room. "And then my dad's struggling to get loose, breaks the chair and stands up, and I'm thinking, 'great, he's free, we're gonna be okay', only it was all a trick, and he's trying to train me or something."

"Train you?" I scoffed. "Please, he's trying to mentally scar you for life."

"Well, I think he's succeeding," she sighed, folding her arms across her chest as the rest of the class stood around waiting for Coach to get out of his office and start the class already. "Seriously, it took me two and a half hours to get out of there. It was horrible."

"I'm not surprised," I admitted, shaking my head in sympathy. "If my dad tied me to a chair and left me there, I'd kick his ass." I thought about it, then winced. "Though maybe kicking _your_ dad's ass isn't the best idea."

"Yeah, I don't think so either," she agreed, shaking her head solemnly, before she started to giggle at the grimace still on my face. I rolled my eyes playfully at her, and then Coach began shouting at us all as he made his way over to us.

"Today, class," he yelled, coming to a stop in front of the large group and clapping his hands together. "We are going to have a little fun. In case you're blind and/or stupid, there's a big climbing wall waiting behind me. Would anyone like to hazard a guess as to what we'll be using it for?"

"Target practice?" I heard someone suggest from the back of the group.

"Damn it, Greenberg!" Coach whined loudly, stomping a foot. "No, not target practice. Believe it or not, we'll be _climbing_ the climbing wall."

"Uh, Coach?"

Coach sighed heavily. "Yes, Greenberg?"

"I'm afraid of heights."

"Of course you are," he said, mostly to himself. "Face your fears, Greenberg. You can go first." He looked around the room, his eyes settling on Danny, and his face lit up into its usual scarily eccentric smile. "Mahealani! Show him how it's done."

"Not sure that's really the best way to conquer ones fears," I muttered, shrugging. "But then who am I to judge? I faced my fears of death by spending the past two months staring it in the face over and over again." Allison smiled at me, dimples bright.

"Did it work?" she asked, her eyes narrowing teasingly.

"Not even a little," I admitted, smiling. As I turned to face her, I noticed wide, puppy-dog eyes staring in our direction, and grinned. "Well, with the way McCall is staring at you, anyone would think you're dating." Allison turned around, a small, private smile lighting up her face as she tried to keep a lid on all the feelings dancing around. "Seriously though," I interrupted, watching her watch him watch her. "You guys really should be a little more subtle about it." Allison sighed wearily.

"I know. It's just really hard, pretending that I don't love him."

"Maybe you don't have to pretend that much," I suggested, shrugging one shoulder as the young huntress turned back to frown at me. "Your parents know how you feel about him, and you can't help that. It's the time you spend with him that they want to put a stop to." Allison raised her eyebrows, letting out a small hum. "In their minds, the love will dissolve eventually, if they keep you away from him. So, for now, all you have to do is pretend that you don't see him outside of school, and everything else you can worry about later down the line."

Allison pursed her lips, a small smile playing on them. "You make a very good point. Love doesn't just go away overnight, especially not first loves."

"Exactly," I nodded, smiling along with her now. When Danny reached the top of the wall and dropped down, Greenberg sweaty and not far behind, even though he'd only made it about half way up, Coach called out for the next pair of volunteers. Allison raised her hand, and Scott's shot up seconds later, both of them wearing excited and barely contained grins. They weren't subtle, but they were damn well adorable.

A few moments after Allison and Scott had raced to the wall and secured themselves to the wire, Stiles appeared at my side.

"Hey," he greeted, nodding once and smiling. I narrowed my eyes.

"Uh, hi," I repeated, almost like a question. "What's up?"

"Nothing. You?"

"Are we really doing this?"

Stiles frowned. "Doing what?"

"The small talk thing. It's really not my forte." Stiles smiled.

"So you're finally admitting there's something you're not amazing at?"

"I ain't ever said I'm amazing at everything," I argued, crossing my arms and sniffing. "Just most things." Stiles scoffed, and I rolled my eyes. "So, are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Are we doing this? Are we small talking when we both know neither of us wants that?"

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms too. "I don't want to be your friend any more than you want to be mine."

"So why-"

"Would you let me finish?" he asked, his eyes widening at my, admittedly, rude behaviour. "Neither of us wants a friendship here, I get that. But Allison and Scott are totally _not_ dating, and with everything else going on in our lives, I think it's in both of our best interests if we acknowledge the fact that it's probably going to happen eventually."

I groaned, letting my head fall back and staring at the ceiling for a second, before finally turning back to Stilinski. "I can't promise I'll be nice."

"Neither can I."

"You'll probably still hate me most of the time. I will rarely give you reason to actually like me."

"I wouldn't expect anything more from the best friend of the mascot for high school jackasses," Stiles admitted, shrugging. "All I want to know is if I can count on you if my life is ever seriously in danger, and if group outings with the non-couple won't be significantly more awkward than they really need to be." I pursed my lips. I'll admit, a truce between the two of us would be mutually beneficial. And if we were stuck in many more life-or-death situations, it _would_ probably happen eventually. At least this way it wouldn't sneak up on me when I'm least expecting it.

"You've got yourself a deal, Stilinski," I decided, holding out a hand so we could shake on it. Then he released me hand, and things settled into an incredibly awkward silence. We stood there for a long moment, neither of us saying anything. "I'll admit, I kinda figured the whole 'friendship' thing came with a 'no awkward silences' clause." Stiles laughed, tilting his head like he agreed, and then an muffled yelp from the wall grabbed my attention just in time for me to be able to witness Scott plummeting to the padded floor. The gym burst into loud giggles as Scott caught his breath.

"McCall," Coach laughed as he sat down beside Scott. "I don't know why, but your pain gives me a special kind of joy."

I looked up to Allison, saw her watching Scott with an almost guilty look until she spotted me. She beamed, giggled to herself and jumped down the wall, landing elegantly on her feet next to a still breathless Scott. "You really should watch your step up there, McCall," I warned, grinning. "The climbing wall can be a dangerous place." Allison laughed again, loudly, and Scott laughed at himself before finally standing up and detaching himself from the wire.

"Alright, next two," Coach called out, spinning around to grin at me. "Wilson, you're up. With…"

"Please don't say Stilinski," I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes. "Please don't say Stilinski."

"Hey," the boy in question complained. "I thought we made a friendship deal."

"And I will only be able to honour that friendship deal if I spend as little time with you as possible," I replied, tilting my head as Coach continued to spin around the group with his pointer finger sticking out. He stopped, suddenly, and held out his arms, gesturing to the _one _person I didn't want him to.

"Stilinski!" he shouted excitedly, and Stiles just turned to smile at me.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" he exclaimed, already moving towards the wall.

"Coach, does he have to be attached to the wire?" I asked, all seriousness. Coach just laughed like it was a joke. My whole _life_ is a joke right now. I'd made a deal with the devil less than two minutes ago, and I was already regretting it.

"That right there is why you're my favourite, Wilson," Coach cackled, pointing at me. Suddenly, the laughter stopped and he shooed me towards the wall. "Now get up there before Stilinski, or I'll partner you with him for the rest of the semester." Gross.

I strapped myself in and got ready, looking over my shoulder at Stiles to see him grinning at me and bopping his head as if he was listening to music. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Coach blew his whistle, and I pushed off of the handholds and started the climb up the wall. To give him credit, Stiles pretty much kept pace with me the entire way. About two thirds of the way up, however, his foot slipped, and I grinned to myself at the half a foot advantage his mistake gave me. I beat him to the top, to Coach's pleasure, and smiled victoriously all the way back down.

"You got lucky," Stiles complained as we unstrapped the wires from us, and I shrugged, still smiling.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I smirked, patting him on the arm before walking over to join Allison. She smiled proudly at me as I approached.

"Nicely done," he praised, and I just grinned back.

"Thank you, thank you. It's all in the footwork." Looking and the room, I spotted Jackson in the back, stood alone. Danny wasn't far from him, talking to one of the other lacrosse players, and yet Jackson was paying no attention to either of them. "Have you seen Lydia?" I asked Allison.

"Not since we left the locker room. But I'm sure if you find Jackson…" She turned around, spotting him at the back and pointing. "And then find the furthest distance from him…" She spun on her heel, pointer finger moving with her as she finally stopped at the other end of the crowd, where, as she'd predicted, Lydia stood talking with Jessica. "You'll find her," Allison finished, a pleased smile on her face as she turned back to me. "Why?"

"It's really awkward with Jackson, and he's being a dick, and I think something's wrong with him," I admitted, sulking.

"You _think_ something's wrong with him?" Allison asked, her tone suggestive. "As in, think, or _think_?" I raised an eyebrow.

"If you're talking about my uncanny ability to sense impending doom, then forget it. I haven't had one of those… episodes since the weekend."

"But that's good, right?" Allison suggested, her eyes widening slightly. "That means nobody's in any serious danger." I shrugged.

"A couple of days ago, I probably would have agreed with you," I confessed, sighing. "But I didn't get any _feelings_ on Tuesday, and Stiles and I were at the mercy of a hunter and an out-of-control werewolf, while you and Scott found a new friend in a giant lizard." I shrugged, blowing out my cheeks on a breath. "I don't know about you, but stuff like that generally constitutes as 'serious danger' in my books." Allison frowned, deep in thought for a minute. She looked worried. "What is it?" I asked, concerned at her long silence.

"Do you think Scott's gonna grow a tail?"

* * *

I had to spend the rest of the period convincing Allison that no, Scott was not going to grow a tail, despite Allison's logical arguments that it helped balance and actual, real-life wolves have tails, so why _wouldn't_ their humanoid counterparts also have them. I'll admit, it was a struggle. And just as I was opening my locker and about to take off my top, I got that feeling. The one I'd spoken to Allison about, the one I hadn't felt in almost a week. It wasn't like with Lydia, or the Sheriff; all I saw was a flash of the climbing wall, up close at first and then falling away, but combined with the suddenly sweaty palms and the pounding in my ears, it was enough.

"What is it?" Allison asked, her hand on my back as I clenched my eyes shut.

"Scott?" I muttered, hoping he'd hear it over all the noise and commotion going on in both of the locker rooms. "Scott, the gym."

"Scott?" Allison asked, worried. "Is Scott okay?" I nodded.

"Scott's fine, come on." I grabbed her other hand, pulling her along behind me as I rushed back into the gym, watching as Scott, nothing more than a vaguely familiar blur, flew across the room and stopped under Erica, the blonde epileptic girl who'd frozen on the wall earlier on, a second before she hit the ground. I heard Allison gasp beside me, and we both rushed over to them as Scott laid her writhing body down on the floor.

"She's seizing," I pointed out in case nobody had noticed yet, staying in control and totally _not_ freaking out.

"Put her on her side," Allison ordered, and Scott did as she said, not letting go of Erica's hand as he turned to me.

"I felt it too," he whispered, his eyes wide and nervous. "Just before you told me, I felt it."

Everything that happened that point on was pretty much a fast and loud blur. Coach called an ambulance and shooed away everyone but Scott, whose hand Erica was still clinging to, even after the seizure had subsided. Everyone in the girls' locker room was buzzing with the recent events, each of them talking, or laughing, in several cases, about what had happened in the gym, and sharing stories about all the other times it had happened. I, on the other hand, just went about changing in silence, doing my best to ignore all the giggles and snarky comments coming from half of the other girls. One of the nastier comments, one about a video I really didn't care to watch, came from one of the girls who had been laughing about Allison and Kate the other day in the hall. I don't know who this girl was, or who she thought she was, but I swore to all that is holy, if she didn't shut her mouth soon, I'd do it for her. I much prefer the subtler arts of malice and manipulation to physical violence, but for her I would _definitely_ make an exception.

Just as that though passed through my mind, I heard a low rumbling, followed by a crash and a scream. I turned to the commotion, and watched as the girl turned around to show the room her very wet, and now very _see-through_, white dress, her dripping gym clothes dropping from her hand to the floor with a wet thud. I lifted a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the giggles as the broken sink behind her continued to spray water up into the air like a fountain.

* * *

Jemma Abraham, I heard was her name, saw me as she wandered down the hall after gym, stood beside Allison's locker, and I smirked at her when she looked my way. Her face turned hard, angry, and she stormed over to me.

"You did this," she seethed, and Allison turned around with a frown at the unexpected voice, only to burst into barely smothered giggles when she saw her outfit.

"And what did I do, exactly?" I questioned her, narrowing my eyes as I tilted my head. I saw Scott and Stiles stopping at the other side of the hall, Scott rifling around in his own locker as they both tried not to grin. I also noticed everyone else around us slowly drawing to a stop wherever they stood, their conversations dying down to silence. "Loosen the sink from the wall? Mess with the pipes? Put a _tiny_ explosive inside the drain?"

Jemma just glowered. "I don't know what you did, but I find it oddly convenient that this happens to me while you stand by laughing, just a few days after you hear me talking about your friend's psychopathic, serial killer aunt." I pushed off the lockers, my face only an inch or two from hers, and her eyes widened.

"Amber, leave it," Allison said quietly, one of her hands coming up to wrap around my arm. I didn't move.

"Trust me when I say you better count your blessings that _this_," I gestured to her attire, "was not my doing." Allison tugged on my arm again, and I took a step back. "Next time I hear you talk shit about anyone that isn't yourself, you won't be so lucky." I let Allison pull me away then, tugging me down the hall and away from where Jemma was being checked over by her friends, like I'd actually laid a finger on her. _As if_.

She had to roam around the school in oversized lost-and-found gym clothes until her dress dried. And that took at least two periods.

* * *

"So," Lydia started, a small smile on her face as the bell rang, signalling the end of bio and the beginning of lunch. "I heard you had a little run in with Jemma Abraham after gym." I smirked.

"_I_ didn't have anything," I argued, throwing my bag onto my shoulder and leading the way out. "She came up to me and accused me of sabotaging the sink." Lydia raised an eyebrow at me.

"Did you?"

I scoffed. "Of course not!" I said, pausing at my locker to spin in the combination. I shrugged. "Kinda wish I had now, though." Lydia grinned.

"It was a rather spectacular show," she admitted, laughing at the memory. Then her smile turned into a smirk. "I think I'll take my leave now."

I frowned at her. "What? Why?"

"You have a visitor," she explained, nodding her head to gesture over my shoulder. I turned, spotting Brett Ryan, my almost formal date, headed straight for me. I couldn't help the smile that took over my face. "I'll see you in the cafeteria," Lydia muttered teasingly from behind me, and I shot her a grin over my shoulder as she backed away. When I turned my attention back to Brett, he was close enough to see the shy smile playing on his lips.

"There's my favourite sophomore," he smiled, moving around me and taking Lydia's place so he could lean against the locker beside mine without my door in the way. "I haven't seen you since the formal."

"Things have been kind of hectic with me for the last couple of days," I explained, wincing apologetically. Brett just smiled.

"It's cool. Is everything okay with Lydia?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and then realised I still wasn't entirely sure. "I think so," I said carefully. "She'll be fine. It's Lydia Martin."

Brett hummed in agreement. "Nothing can keep that girl down for long." I smiled, sliding my biology book into my locker and closing the door. He looked like he wanted to say something else, so I turned, mirroring his stance and leaning against my locker, and waited. "I just wanted to make sure that, after everything that happened at the formal, and with Lydia going missing, you were still up for our date this Saturday?" he said, his voice raising at the end like he wasn't sure if it was a question or not, so I smiled, nodding.

"Definitely," I said, biting down on my lip to keep from grinning too much. That got even harder when his face lit up at my answer.

"Good. You finish at one, right?" I nodded. "I'll pick you up at four. And it's going to be so ridiculously cheesy and romantic that you're _probably_ going to fall in love with me by the end of day."

"Is that so?" I asked, laughing. He nodded, his eyebrows raised in innocence.

"Oh, yeah. But I'd appreciate it if you'd at least wait until the third date to say the words out loud," he pleaded, those amazing green eyes sparkling. "I've kinda been looking forward to wooing you, and my entire plan falls apart if you're smitten with me right from the start." I pursed my lips, tipping my head slightly.

"Unfortunately, I think that ship may have sailed," I admitted, and his face went soft and made my legs go all kinds of wobbly. Then he shrugged.

"Ah, I guess I can make a new plan," he supposed aloud, smiling down at me brightly. I heard someone calling his name from down the hall, and he turned around to hold up a finger before turning back to me and standing up straight. "Four o'clock, Saturday." I nodded, completely unable to his my smile with the way he was looking at me. He sent me one last grin before spinning around and meeting up with the friend that had called him over, and I actually had to shove a fist in my mouth to keep from beaming. My cheeks were starting hurt.

After I'd composed my face into a less manic smile, I made my way to the cafeteria. I was late for lunch, so I knew the food choices probably wouldn't be the best, but I wasn't really in the mood to care about such tedious matters right now. I had a date. A real date, with an adorable guy who seemed to genuinely like me. And his face certainly didn't hurt matters. However, when I reached the cafeteria, I didn't spot Lydia anywhere. I'd been talking to Brett for a while, so I figured she'd be here by now. And then I saw Jackson, sitting hunched over his lunch tray, pushing his fries around the plate with a scowl. I strolled over to his table, throwing my bag onto the table and dropping into the seat across from him.

"What's up, Frowny?" I asked, leaning forward and propping my chin into my open palm. He glanced up at me, sighed, and then continued to play with his food like I wasn't even there. I took the fork out of his hand, stealing a fry for myself, and raised an eyebrow at him. It took him another minute or so to finally sigh and talk to me.

"I shouted at Lydia," he muttered quietly, staring holes into the table.

"What?"

"Nothing happened to me, the other night," he started, looking around to make sure no one was listening, and then shaking his head. "The night of the full moon, I set up a camera, to document my… transformation, the whole thing."

I frowned. "And nothing happened?" He shook his head. "Okay, do you know why? And what does it have to do with Lydia?"

"In answer to both of those questions, I think Lydia kind of… vaccinated me against the bite." I pieced it together in my head, and sighed, dropping the fork and taking a fry with my fingers.

"Because she was bit, and didn't turn, which means she's somehow immune." Jackson nodded.

"Exactly. And when I figured that might be why I didn't turn the other night, I just got so angry, and I took it out on her…" he dropped his head into his hands, and I let him sit there in silence for a minute until he raised his head again, looking the most sorry and un-Jackson that I've ever seen him. "She could barely even look at me, she was so scared."

"Of course she was scared, Jackson. She was attacked by a 'wild animal', nearly died, and then went missing, running around the woods naked only to not remember any of it. She's scared of just about everything right now, and you cornering her and blaming her for something she doesn't even know anything about ain't going to help her."

"I know!" Jackson argued, running both hands over his face. "I didn't mean to do it, I just got so pissed off and everything just kind of went a bit hazy." He looked up at me, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to scare her. I don't want her to be scared of me."

"Then next time you see her, don't shout abuse at her," I suggested, standing up and grabbing my bag. "Now I am hungry, so I'm going to grab myself some lunch." He nodded, his face solemn, and I smiled. "I will chew you out some more when I get back," I promised, and his face broke just enough to let out a short, breathy laugh, and I spun around, headed for the lunch line.

I was right; the choices this late into the lunch period were abysmal. I picked the best looking thing I could find, a chicken and mayo sandwich, and turned around to head back to my seat. I'd only taken a few steps, however, when my full attention was drawn to the doors, where Erica Reyes was making her return to the school after her seizure this morning. And quite a return it was.

Gone were baggy clothes, the unruly hair, the acne, even the slumped gait and the obvious lack of self-esteem. This Erica was… different. Confident and proud, she walked with her head held high and an 'I know I look hot' smirk on her flawless face and an outfit Lydia would be proud of. Speaking of Lydia, I drew my attention away from the new Erica for long enough to meet Lydia in the middle of the cafeteria, both of us looking from each other to Erica stealing some poor boy's apple, and very possibly his dignity, and back again several times. That's when Lydia slammed her hands down onto the table in front of us, looking between Scott and Stiles, that table's residents, with a gape.

"What… the holy hell… is that?"

"That's Erica," Scott answered, none of us able to look away as she grinned slyly at him from across the room, turned on her very high heel, and sashayed, yes, _sashayed_, back out of the cafeteria. As soon as Erica was out of sight, Scott and Stiles pushed back their seats and chased after her.

"What the hell just happened?" Lydia asked, still not looking from the last place we'd seen the newly stunning blonde. I gaped for a long moment, and shrugged when I couldn't find a solid answer.

"That's a very good question."

* * *

**A/N: I'm really enjoying writing this story at the moment, so I hope you guys are enjoying reading it. **

**Don't forget to check out my Polyvore, Tumblr and Charahub accounts for more on Amber and my other OCs, as well as my 8tracks account for this story's playlist and my other favourites. All links are on my profile.**

**Thank you so much for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	4. The Lowest Point of my Life

**A/N: I haven't done a lot of writing this past week or so, since my long-distance boyfriend came to visit, and I've been trying to do a bit of original writing. It's going really well so far, but I won't be neglecting _Occult, _so don't worry.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

Lydia and I jumped out of my car at Allison's house that evening with matching groans.

"I don't want to be here," I moaned, dragging my feet towards the steps.

"Neither do I," Lydia agreed, dragging me along by the arm. "But Allison asked me to come, and if I have to spend the evening with the overly-enthusiastic lovers that are Allison and Scott, as well as Scott's friend, so do you." _Scott's friend. _Glad Stilinski wasn't around to hear that.

"But I'm gonna be a fifth wheel!"

"No, we're going to be third wheels, all three of us," she corrected, ringing the doorbell. "And we'll have to put up with it for now, because they are disgustingly in love and we're her friends. Okay?"

I thought about it, before rolling my eyes and grunting my acceptance.

"Use your big girl words," Lydia chided, turning to smile as the door opened to reveal Allison's mom. Mrs Argent was still terrifying, what with her bright terrifying eyes that looked like they could see right through to your soul, but just slightly less terrifying than her husband, so she was a welcome sight. She waved us in with a smile, telling us that Allison was in her room and we should go straight up.

"Hi, guys!" Allison greeted when she first saw us, her smile bright and cheery. I closed the door behind me, as per her gesturing requested, and moved to sit on her bed.

"I hope you appreciate this," I said, my tone not at all joking.

"I really do," Allison replied, one eyebrow raised. "I really want to get that A in Chemistry, but I don't think I can do it without your help." I rolled my eyes, smiling at the lie she'd told her mom, and she and Lydia giggled just as a knock came from the door. Allison turned around, and I saw Mr Argent stood there in all his creepy glory.

"Heading out?" he asked, and Allison smiled, nodded.

"Studying," she explained, and with a jerk of his head she sighed, dragging her feet as she walked over to him. He spoke quietly to her for a minute, and try as I might, I couldn't hear a word of it. Plus, Lydia's selfie-taking expedition was much more entertaining.

* * *

"Ah, Wilson, how lovely it is to see you again," Stiles smiled, not _at all_ sarcastically, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, you're hilarious, Stilinski." I moved closer as Allison got out of the car to greet Scott, Lydia close behind, still stuck to her phone. "Listen, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here."

Stiles scoffed, muttered, "I doubt that", but I ignored him.

"So let's just make it through the evening with as little bodily damage as possible, and then we can both pretend this never happened and move on with our lives, okay?" Stiles made a noise, one I assumed was agreement, and I smiled. "Good. So, what is it we're up to tonight?"

Stiles gestured behind him with wide arms, and after locking my car with the button on my keys, I followed him to the big doors. The lack of signs _anywhere_ around this place made me anxious.

"Yeah, I still don't get it. What is this place?"

It was very possible Stiles was going to kill us all and leave our bodies here for them to be found after months of searching, and then he unlocked the doors and switched on the lights and I realised that the reality of the situation was much worse.

_Ice-skating_.

I sucked in a deep breath, blowing out my cheeks as I let it out, and I felt Lydia's pitying stare. I whined, turning to her for help.

"Don't look at me," was what she said instead. "I've tried to get you ready for this moment several times since we first met. I don't know what else I can really do."

"You can get me out of this," I suggested, seconds away from falling to my knees and begging.

"No, you already agreed to this," she pointed out, striding in after the rest of the group. "Make something up if you have to, just don't leave the building without me." She walked right past the waiting Stilinski, barely giving him the time of day, despite his bright, hopeful smile as she passed, and made her way to the skates. Before I could feign sickness or, if that failed, collapse, Lydia had already picked out skated for the both of us and was pulling me over to the bleachers, sitting down immediately to put hers on.

"I don't want to," I moaned, watching the others pick out their skates and ignoring my own as I sat down on the bench in front of Lydia.

"You have to face your fears, Amber," she sang, lacing her skates up as Stilinski raced to sit beside her. I pouted, closing my eyes for a second to psych myself up, then removing my shoes and replacing them with the clean white skates. "Urgh, could it _be_ any colder in here?"

I heard a rustling behind me, before Stiles said 'here', and I turned to see him holding the most garishly orange sweater I've ever seen in my life. Given Lydia's disgusted face, I think the sentiment was mutual.

"I'm wearing blue," she said, like that explained everything to the teenage boy who apparently thought a hoodie was a staple part of any wardrobe. "Orange and blue, not a good combination."

Stiles was silent for a minute. "But it's the colours of the Mets," he argued, and I just shook my head, deciding to focus on my skates instead. "Okay, um…" Stiles started again, and I rolled my eyes. "Maybe orange and blue is not the best. But, you know, um… Sometimes other things that you wouldn't think would be a good combination end up being, like, a perfect combination, you know? Like, two people together." _Did I do something to you, God, to have to sit here and listen to _this_? I must have done something awful, because this is just cruel and unusual punishment. _"Who nobody ever thought would be together… ever."

"I can see that," Lydia agreed thoughtfully, and I froze for a second, a frown on my face, because _that_ was unexpected.

"You can?" Stiles asked, surprised enough for the both of us.

"Yeah," Lydia said. "They're cute together." My frown deepened, and I turned around to see both of them staring at Allison and Scott, and the giggle I felt forming in my throat was instant and barely restrained.

"Ah, yeah, them," Stiles repeated, and I think I had tears in my eyes by this point.

"Cute," Lydia said again, getting up and heading to the ice as I cracked up.

"Cute," Stiles said bitterly. "Adorable." By the time Lydia was out of earshot and I could finally laugh out loud, I was bent over double and struggling to breathe. "Yeah, this is freaking hilarious," Stiles muttered, yanking on his laces as he finished doing them up.

"I'm sorry," I breathed, genuinely feeling bad for the guy. "I'm sorry, it's just…" I held my stomach as I started laughing again, wiping at my eyes and trying to catch my breath. "For a second there, I actually thought she know what you were trying to tell her, and then…" I had to stop, the bubble of laughter making it hard for me to form coherent sentences.

"I'm glad my misery is so amusing to you," Stiles snapped as he stood up and passed me, and I grabbed his jacket to stop him from going too far.

"I'm sorry, really," I said honestly, wiping my sleeve under my eyes. "I know it sucks, but I've tried to tell you before; you're not on her radar." Stiles rolled his eyes, nodding along.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you coming or not?" he asked, and when I hesitated to follow, he turned back around, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Uh, I was thinking _not_," I said, pursing my lips and nodding. Stiles narrowed his eyes at me.

"You came to an ice rink and you're not going to skate?"

"In my defence, I didn't know we were coming to an ice rink," I argued, sniffing and folding my arms over my chest as I stared at the ice. "I wouldn't have come if I'd known this is what we were doing, trust me."

"Oh my God," Stiles murmured, and when I looked up at him, he was watching me with narrowed eyes and a small, delighted smile. "You don't know how to skate."

I scoffed. "Of course I know how to skate, Stilinski. It's just not my thing."

"You liar," he cried, looking around with a manic grin and then coming to sit on the bench below me. "You can't skate."

"I can skate."

"Then prove me wrong," he challenged, narrowing his eyes again. "Get on the ice, do one lap of the rink, and then I'll leave you to sit here in peace." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my response, which ended up being only an eye roll. "Okay, let's up the stakes a little. If you do one lap, just one, I'll… I won't talk to you, unless it's a life or death situation, until graduation."

Well, that wasn't really a deal I could turn down, now, was it? So I stood up, carefully walked over to the edge of the ice, and then started to panic. I saw Stiles stop beside me out of the corner of my eye, saw him lean against the glass separating the ice from the bleachers with that stupid smug grin still on his face.

"Just admit it," he encouraged, folding his arms over his chest. I bit my lip, my eyes falling shut as I sucked in a breath through my nose. I groaned, stomping a bladed foot against the carpet as Stiles' face lit up with victory.

"Fine, I admit it; I can't skate," I huffed, watching as Lydia spun around in tight circles like a pro. _Show-off_.

"_Another_ thing you admit you can't do. First small talk, now this." Stiles shook his head, grinning. "How have you never learnt to skate?"

"I've tried," I admitted, my shoulders slumping as I moved to sit on the lowest bench. "My mom loved to skate, and she tried to teach me so many times, and so has Lydia. I mean, I know how to do it in _theory_, I'm just…"

"You're scared," he finished for me, sitting down beside me. I nodded. We both sat silently for a while, watching the other girls skate gracefully and Scott just about manage to stay upright, until Stiles surprised me. "When I was a kid, I think I was about seven, we spent the summer visiting family. They lived by the beach, so we would go there every day, and I loved playing in the water, thought it was hilarious to try and jump higher than the waves. But there was one time that I didn't, and I went under, and I can remember not knowing which way was up and totally freaking up." Stiles wasn't looking at me as he spoke. He wasn't really looking at anything in particular, just staring, unfocused, at the floor as he brought up those old memories. "I couldn't have been under for more than a few seconds, my dad was watching and he pulled me out as soon as it happened, but it was long enough that I refused to go back in the water for the rest of the vacation."

"You're scared of water?" I asked, and he nodded. "But you know how to swim," I continued, not asking. "I've seen you swim."

"Yeah, because after a year of being too terrified to get in any body of water bigger than a bathtub, my dad finally got it through my thick skull that it was okay that I was scared, so long as that fear didn't endanger my life. He didn't want me to get stuck in a situation where I needed to be able to swim to safety if I was too scared around water to even move."

I frowned. "Not being able to skate isn't going to endanger my life."

"I mean, have you ever watched _Saw_?" Stiles asked, shrugging. "Serial killers can be rather creative. But you're missing the point. You can't let your fears control your life."

I hated it, but Stiles was right. And he knew it, too. I huffed, and he seemed to take that as acceptance.

"Okay, so are you the kind of girl that likes to rip of her Band-Aids, or peel them off slowly and painfully?"

"Definitely slowly and painfully," I decided, nodding. "I mean, what if the wound has started healing or, gross, scabbed over? Ripping the Band-Aid off would only cause more damage than necessary." Stiles rolled his eyes, but clapped his hands together as he stood up. I took the hand he offered to help me to my wobbly feet and lead me over to the edge of the rink, stepping onto the ice before me and holding his hands out, gesturing me forward. "I don't want to," I whined, pouting.

"Either you skate with Stiles," Lydia said, stopping abruptly beside him and cocking an eyebrow in my direction. "Or you skate with me. And you know _I_ like to rip of the Band-Aids." I glared at her, grabbing Stiles' hand and letting him slowly pull me onto the ice. It wasn't so bad at first, the skates sticking to the ice, and I didn't feel too off balance. But, of course, the second Stiles let go and tried to get me to move without him there to keep me steady, I almost fell on my ass. So he spent the next five minutes skating backwards, pulling me with him, until he could let go and I would keep moving forward without his help. I heard a few cheers from behind me, Scott being particularly supportive, probably because of our shared troubles with the skates, and I actually started enjoying it. I was having a fun evening with both friends and people I never thought I'd ever enjoy spending time with, despite all the heartache and drama going on in my life, doing something I'd never done before and probably having one of the best nights I'd had in a while.

Of course, because this is us and not a group of lucky, blissfully unaware people, that all had to come crashing down the minute I started letting myself enjoy the moment. And, as I've become accustomed to, it all came crashing down with Lydia's scream.

The second we heard the screeching, Stiles and I both stopped dead, our heads whipping around to find Lydia crouched on the ice, screaming at it. Stiles grabbed my arm and bolted, pulling me over to Lydia with him as she scratched at the ice. I fell to the ice beside her, moving so I could see what she was so focused on, but all I saw was ice. It wasn't until I pulled her hands away, skin to skin, and tried to keep her steady that I started seeing what it was that had terrified her so much.

Peter Hale.

It was only a glimpse, and it disappeared as soon as I yanked my hands back from Lydia's, but it was enough to worry me. Lydia was seeing Peter Hale, the dead werewolf that she shouldn't know attacked her just a few nights ago, staring back at her from under the ice.

"Lydia," I whispered, trying not to touch her again. It was kind of a hard feat when you're trying to keep someone from breaking their nails off against ice. "Lydia, it's not real," I tried, only she wasn't paying any attention to me, too busy staring at what she thought was a man. I moved my head, trying to get in the way of Lydia's line of sight, but she just kept moving, so I glanced over to an incredibly confused looking Stiles, braced myself and grabbed a hold of her face with both of my hands. I heard her stop screaming instantly, instead letting out loud, body-wracking sobs, but all I paid attention to at the time was what she was seeing. Peter's head twisting and spinning at all kinds of strange angles, the Wolfsbane, the petals strewn across the ice, each image interrupted by the same man stalking towards her on the lacrosse field, surrounded by light.

Her head slipped through my hands, landing on my shoulder as Lydia continued to weep, my own mind clearing enough to make out Allison and Scott rushing over.

"What happened?" the young huntress asked, her eyes wide as she rubbed a hand across Lydia's shoulders. I couldn't say much, not with Lydia curled up in my arms, but I managed to mouth one word to them that conveyed how serious the situation was.

Peter.

* * *

"She was seeing Peter?" Scott asked a little while later as we all sat in Stiles' bedroom. After she'd calmed down enough to stand up, I'd taken Lydia home and put her to bed, only to return to the Stilinski household so we could go everything that had happened without Lydia's blissfully ignorant ears listening in. "Peter Hale?"

"How many other Peters do you know?" I asked in response, regretting the sarcasm the second I saw the hurt on Scott's face. Allison didn't look too impressed either. "Sorry," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, Peter Hale. Under the ice."

"How do you even know that?" Allison asked, coming to sit beside me on the bed. Stiles cut in before I could string together an answer that would make sense.

"You saw it too, didn't you?" The three of us turned to look at Stiles, who was swinging in his desk chair and watching me with narrowed eyes. "When you touched her." I nodded, which, instead of helping, only served to give us all more questions.

"When I first touched her, I saw a flash of Peter, and then freaked out and let go," I explained, starting to pick at the duvet covers at my crossed ankles. "And I didn't want to touch her again, but I couldn't get her to look up from the ice, from what she thought was Peter, so I grabbed her face."

"And you saw more?" Allison asked, ducking her head to look at me. I nodded again, sighing.

"It was like a montage of Peter under the ice and Wolfsbane petals all over the place and Peter the night of the formal, on the lacrosse field."

"I thought she didn't remember that," Scott piped up, and I shrugged.

"So did I, but apparently she does. Some part of her, at least."

"You don't…" Stiles trailed off, blew out his cheeks and tried again. "You don't think she knows what's going on, do you?"

"I don't," I answered honestly. "But I think that's half of the problem."

Allison nodded beside me. "If she's remembering Peter from the night of the formal, she's gonna be confused, and probably scared."

"You remember the video store, when Peter killed the clerk?" Everyone nodded, and I directed my next question to Stiles. "Do you remember what Lydia was like the next day, after seeing something and not being able to make any sense out of it?" Stiles sighed, nodded slowly.

"Her mom had to give her something to calm her down." I gestured to Stiles, to his response.

"She can't handle the not knowing."

"We can't tell her, Amber," Allison argued. "It's not safe, especially not now with Gerard in town and that… lizard thing running around."

"So what, we just let her carry on thinking she's going crazy? Because that's what it'll come to."

"We have to wait," Scott said, his voice somehow full of both apology and authority. "We wait until it's safe, until _she's_ safe, and then we can tell her."

"And what do we do until then?" I asked. "I don't know if I can lie to her face when I get what it feels like to think you're going insane."

"It's for her own good, Am," Allison pleaded, and I let my head fall into my hands, my elbows propped on my knees. "For now, we need to do everything we can to keep her safe. And that means keeping this whole world as far away from her as possible."

"She was bitten by an alpha werewolf, one she's now hallucinating about, and is somehow immune to said bite," I pointed out, picking my head up enough to prop my chin on my hands and raising my eyebrows at the group. "I think that ship sailed a long time ago."

* * *

Thanks to an awesome algebra teacher, I made it to lunch on time the next day, and made the most of it by picking the biggest and juiciest burger the cafeteria have. They're all disgusting, obviously, when you compare them to actual burgers from the outside world, but, relatively, I think I picked a winner. Looking for a seat, I spotted Scott, sat alone at a table. I suppose, given all my other choices of annoying jocks that I didn't want to eat with and people I didn't care to know, I picked another relative winner. I made my way to sit opposite him, telling myself the whole way it didn't matter that there was no one else with him, no Allison or Lydia, hell, even Stiles, to buffer. I could sit and have a normal conversation with Scott. Even if he was a werewolf. He smiled at me distractedly as I sat down, and I frowned.

"Everything okay there, McCall?" I forced out, and he looked up at me, his eyebrows raised, and shook his head.

"Yeah, just… I'm sure Derek's going to turn another teenager. He's got Isaac and Erica, but he needs a third." So much for a normal conversation.

"Aren't you his third?" Scott looked offended by the idea, and I shrugged innocently as I took a bite out of my burger. _Definitely_ a winner.

"No, I'm… I'm part of my own pack. An omega, I guess."

"_The lone wolf dies, while the pack survives_," I murmured to myself, but, of course, Scott caught it.

"Are you saying you think I'm going to die?"

"No, of course not. But you are stronger in numbers, right? And Derek has the numbers."

"Derek also has no moral compass."

I tilted my head as I ate more of my burger, totally agreeing, of course, but decided to change the subject. "Hey, so why is your boss a total creep?"

"Deaton?"

"Do you have any other bosses?"

"My mom's kinda bossy sometimes."

"Are we ignoring my question, or…"

"Right. I don't know, but there is something weird about him. He saved me from the hunters that night at Derek's, but every time I try to bring it up, he changes the subject. Like yesterday, I asked him about it, and instead of talking about it, he gave me a raise."

"Are you saying your boss bribed you into shutting up?"

"Yes, definitely. But for an extra two-fifty an hour, I'm happy to be bribed."

"Two-fifty an hour?! Oh, you let him bribe you for all you're worth." Scott grinned at me, and while I was glad the conversation was going well with my lunch buddy, I was more than relieved when Allison showed up, sitting in the seat behind Scott at the next table over to keep away any awkward silences.

The first thing out of Scott's mouth was, "I know how it looked, but she came up to me." I rolled my eyes. Relationship drama really wasn't something we needed right now.

I couldn't hear Allison's side of the conversation, could barely hear Scott's, and I had no idea what they were talking about. So I just ate my lunch, hoping one of them would explain things to me after they were done muttering to each other and kidding themselves into thinking nobody noticed. Suddenly, Allison got out of her chair, storming out of the cafeteria as Scott looked on, gaping.

"What did you say to her?" I accused, and he struggled to answer me until Stiles dropped down into the seat next to him and drew his attention away from my question all together.

"Scott," Stiles began, pointing over to the table behind us. "Do you see that?" I turned my head, looking over my shoulder at what Stiles was pointing at. An empty table?

"What, it's an empty table?" Scott pointed out.

"Yeah, but whose empty table?" Stiles pressed, and as I turned back around, realisation dawned on Scott's face.

"Boyd."

"Wait," I held my hands up to the two of them, letting everything slot into place in my head. "Are you suggesting that Boyd is the newest edition to Derek's pack? The third you were talking about?" Scott nodded, and my shoulders slumped. "Okay, next question… Who's Boyd?"

Both boys looked at me for a long moment, neither of them speaking or moving, until they simultaneously stood up and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving me behind. That was certainly a new feeling.

I followed them anyway, but that's beside the point.

"Okay, I'm gonna go to the ice rink and see if he's there," Scott explained to Stiles as I practically jogged to keep up with them. "If he's not at home, you call me. Got it?"

"What about me?" I asked from behind them, and they both stopped and turned around to me.

"You actually _want_ to help?" Stiles asked, surprise taking over his face. I shrugged.

"I'm only as completely useless as you," I pointed out, receiving a glare in return. "Besides, we have a deal, remember?"

"Yeah, if someone's life is in danger," Stiles responded, and Scott just frowned, confused. "What happened to each of us staying in our lanes?"

"I may have been wrong about that," I admitted, staring at the ceiling so I didn't have to witness the look of utter victory on Stiles' face. "I mean, you guys have been all up in my line since Lydia disappeared, and I suppose you've kind of been useful. Aside from almost getting both of us killed the other night at the station, of course," I recalled, finally looking at Stilinski with a raised eyebrow.

"I saved us too, didn't I?"

"No, that was definitely Derek."

"Yeah, but he only knew something was wrong because I pulled the fire alarm," Stiles argued, and I shook my head.

"I think you might be forgetting that Derek is a werewolf, and therefore has super sensitive hearing. He probably heard the hunter when he was berating me for talking so much."

Stiles scoffed. "Oh, please. He was far too busy flirting with that deputy to notice anything that wasn't literally blaring away."

"He was fake flirting, to get us past the front desk, you absolute moron!"

"Okayyy," Scott said slowly, taking a small step between the two of them. "Amber, despite how much I feel like this might be a bad idea and that you might murder him, you go with Stiles." My shoulders slumped.

"Do I have to?" I whined, pouting. "Can't I do something _else_ useful?"

"No, I think you and Stiles need to learn to deal with each other without constantly going at each other's throats. So you either go with Stiles, or you do nothing."

"I much prefer the latter option," Stiles said, and I rolled my eyes.

"Come on," Scott gestured, turning to continue down the hall. "We gotta go." I followed, but when Stiles didn't, we both stopped again.

"What?" Scott asked.

"Maybe we should just let him," Stiles suggested, shrugging. "Boyd, you know? You said Derek's giving them a choice, right?"

"We can't," Scott argued, grabbing Stiles by the sleeve and pulling him along with us.

"You gotta admit, Erica looks pretty good," Stiles admitted, gesturing widely. "You know? The word _sensational_ comes to mind."

"How good do you think she's gonna look with a Wolfsbane bullet in her head?" Scott pointed out, and _gross_, that was not a great mental picture.

"Alright, all I'm saying is that maybe this one isn't totally your responsibility."

"They all are," Scott said quietly, stopping again.

"No, they're not," I disagreed, shaking my head. "They're allowed to make their own choices, especially if Derek is telling them about the hunters. They know, theoretically, at least, what they're getting themselves into."

"But this thing, this whole situation, is gonna get out of control, and that makes me responsible. If I can stop this from blowing up, I have to try."

Stiles and I were both quiet for a second, looking at each other with raised eyebrows, before I shrugged. "Alright," Stiles exclaimed, clapping Scott on the shoulder. "I'm with ya. And, also, I gotta say, this newfound heroism is making me very attracted to you."

"Shut up," Scott laughed as I rolled my eyes.

"No, seriously. Do you wanna just try making out for a sec?" Scott laughed again, shoving Stiles forward as we continued walking. "Just to see how it feels?"

I shook my head at the pair. "Where did you even find him?" I asked Scott, who continued to grin at his best friend.

"The sandbox," Scott told me. "First day of kindergarten. I'm pretty sure he was eating paper."

* * *

"You realise we're skipping three periods, right?" I asked Stiles as we turned another corner.

Stiles just scoffed. "Yeah, get used to it. It's probably going to be happening a lot."

"I was a good girl before I started hanging out with you guys," I recalled wistfully. "Brilliant grades, never missed a class, always on time for work. And now I can't make it through the school day without needing to leave on account of another supernatural emergency."

Stiles shrugged. "Maybe things will calm down soon. After this lizard thing goes away, and Derek stops turning people, and the Argents stop threatening to kill anything that moves slightly faster than the average human."

"So, what you're saying is that things will calm down approximately never?" Stiles shrugged again, nodding, and I huffed. "Great. Guess I can wave goodbye to those possible college scholarships, huh?"

Stiles scoffed, turned another corner and pulled over. "This is it," he said, jumping out of the car as I quickly followed, he ran up the steps to the house and began knocking on the door anxiously, calling out to Boyd. When no answer came, he took to knocking on the window and peeking through, trying to see inside.

"Stiles, I don't think he's here," I said as I walked up the steps and waited behind him. "I mean, he's probably just at the ice rink, right? And Scott's headed there now." Stiles growled.

"I'm gonna check the back door," he muttered, and we both turned around and instantly jumped back. "Oh, wow," Stiles breathed, a hand to his chest as Erica giggled at both of us.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"Uh…" _Great start_. "Nothing, we were just, uh… looking for, uh…"

"Boyd," I cut in, fed up of his stammering. "We were looking for Boyd."

"Yeah, yes," Stiles agreed nodding. "Boyd."

Erica smiled, not even looking in my direction. "You know what you're doing right now that's kind of funny?"

"Losing any and all brain activity?" I muttered, and Stiles must have caught it because his hand lashed out and hit my arm. He shook his head at Erica, who laughed, slowly moving her head from side to side.

"You're only looking at my eyes."

"That's funny?" Stiles asked.

"Well, yeah," Erica explained. "Because it's that kinda look where you're trying not to look anywhere other than my eyes. But you want to, don't you?" she smirked, stepping closer. I just scoffed.

"Are we just going to pretend that I'm not standing right here?"

"You want a nice, long, hard look." _Apparently so_.

Stiles closed his eyes for a while, shaking his head. "Not really, no."

"Oh, so it's just my eyes?" Erica asked, all innocence as she took a few steps back out of Stiles' personal bubble.

"Yes," Stiles said, far too quickly. "You have beautiful eyes."

"I have beautiful everything," Erica corrected.

"Wow," I breathed, raising both of my eyebrows.

"And a newfound self-confidence. Congratulations, Erica. We should get going." Stiles grabbed my wrist and went to take a step forward, only to be quickly stopped by Erica's hand on his chest.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Why not?" Stiles asked, his voice strained from the force of Erica's super-strong palm. She smiled, lifted her other hand to show a bulky, metallic… thing. I admit, I had no idea what it was. It did look heavy, though

"You're having car trouble."

And in a flash of silver, Erica had smashed the thing into Stiles' head, and he fell back against the door and onto the floor in a heap. My eyes widened as I turned from Stiles' crumpled form to Erica's smile. "Please tell me you're still ignoring me." Erica only smiled brighter.

"Afraid not," she shrugged, and I just pouted, let out a tiny whine, and closed my eyes.

* * *

The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a dumpster next to Stilinski with a bump on my head. If that wasn't the lowest point of my life, I don't know what is.

I sat up, picking the trash of me while doing my best to not throw up, pushed the lid open to let the light in, and shook Stilinski awake. He came to with a jolt, looked around us, and groaned.

"Urgh, _bitch_," he murmured, standing up and climbing out. "What the hell happened?" he asked, holding out a hand to help me down as I jumped out after him.

"Well, Erica hit you over the head with what I _think_ was part of your car," I started, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I remember that much. Oh, my _car_."

"And then she turned on me."

"Did you at least try to run away?" Stiles asked, looking around the alley we were in before leading the way to the street. "She lost the element of surprise as soon as she hit me."

"Do you not know me at _all_? My reflexes are average at best, and I'm definitely not fast enough to outrun a _werewolf_." Stiles sighed, and I rubbed at the lump on my head when we reached the street and tried to figure out where we were.

"Any idea which way it is to Boyd's house?"

"I'm also terrible with directions."

"Wow, you are just _full_ of surprises today," Stiles complained, his arms swinging out as he turned to me. "Aren't you here because you're trying to be _useful_?"

_Ouch_. "You're right, I'm sorry I'm such a burden to you, Stilinski. I guess I'll just remove myself from the situation and leave you to it." I turned on my heel and started walking down the street, pulling out my phone as I did so. I didn't have a clue where I was headed, but I figured I'd recognise something sooner or later. I heard quick, heavy footsteps behind me as I scrolled through my contacts.

"Okay, I'm sorry, that was harsh."

"No, I totally get it. Don't worry, I won't volunteer to help out ever again." Once I found Jackson, I hit _call_ and put the phone up to my ear, aware that Stilinski was still following me. As soon as Jackson picked up, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey Wilson, what's up?"

"Could you pick me up?"

"Why, what's wrong? Where are you?"

"I don't really know," I admitted, looking around. "There's a bookstore, and an antique store, and a café, and… why are there two bookstores on one street? What is the point of that, how is one of them not out of business?"

"Okay, don't freak out," Jackson said calmly, and I took a deep breath, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "I know the place you're talking about, I'll be there in five minutes. Don't move from that spot, okay?"

"Okay," I muttered, and Jackson hung up as I looked around for a nearby bench or something.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked cautiously, following me as I walked towards the bus stop.

"I'm fine," I replied, slumping down onto the bench as I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. Had I known I would've been knocked unconscious and left out in the cold this afternoon, I definitely would've brought a coat.

"Are you cold?" Stiles asked, and I felt my eyes roll involuntarily. "Do you want my jacket?"

"No, I don't want your goddamn jacket, Stilinski!" I snapped. "I don't need to stink anymore of trash than I already do, thanks."

Stiles nodded slowly, moving to sit beside me. "Okay, that's fine. But I think you might be freaking out a little."

"Really?" I scoffed, turning to him as he stood up again and kept a safe distance between the two of us. "Why would I be freaking out? I've only been knocked out by a werewolf, woken up in a dumpster in a part of town that I've never been to before, with a guy I can _barely_ stand who then basically starts calling me useless, and now I have an agonising headache, due to the whole being knocked unconscious, and I'm gonna be late for work, and I smell like trash, and I really wish I hadn't agreed to switch shifts now and _why_ _are there two bookstores on one street_, I just don't get it!" I didn't see Stiles' gape after I had finished shouting, because my eyes were closed as I tried to calm myself down and regulate my breathing before I had a panic attack or something. One panic attack in front of Stilinski was enough for a lifetime, thanks.

"I'm sorry I implied that you were useless."

"That is so _not_ the biggest problem right now," I said quietly, blowing out another deep breath. "I mean, why would someone even open a bookstore less than a minute down the street from another bookstore? Either, one of them is going to go out of business, or neither of them will reach their full business-potential, and that's just sad for everyone involved."

"I really think you should have my jacket," Stiles suggested again, already unzipping it. "I think you might be in shock."

"But I don't _want_ your jacket," I whined, pouting. "I wanna get to work on time and _not_ smell like trash. Besides, you'd get cold."

Stiles shrugged, his jacket in his hand. "My shirt has longer sleeves than yours does." I looked down at my top, at the sleeves that barely passed my elbows and the cold, goose-pimpled skin it left bare, and I pouted. Stiles shook the jacket in his outstretched hand, and I huffed, taking it. I pulled it on, wrinkling my nose at the smell of it, but smiled gratefully at Stiles as he sat back down beside me. "Better?" I nodded, soaking in the heat that Stiles had left in the lining of the jacket, and we sat in silence until Jackson finally turned up and got out to greet me.

"You okay?" he asked, and I nodded. "You wanna explain how you got stranded out here?" He wrinkled his nose then, taking a small step back. "And why you smell like a dumpster?"

"Because we were in a dumpster," I explained, deadpan. "Erica knocked us out and left us in one down that alley." I gestured, and that's when Jackson took notice of Stiles, still sat on the bus stop bench.

"This is what happens when you spend time with the wonder twins," he warned, before gesturing back to his car. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Actually, I need to go to work. And you need to drop Stiles off at Boyd's first."

Jackson stopped by the hood of his car, and turned around slowly. "No, I really don't."

"Yes, you really do," I responded, crossing my arms. Jackson just raised an eyebrow at me, so I shrugged. "I'm not getting in the car until he does." He scoffed.

"That's fine by me," Jackson shrugged, moving around the car. "Have fun walking home." Jackson got in and slammed the door shut, and I turned to Stiles when he made a noise of complaint.

"I can walk to Boyd's, Amber," he said as Jackson started up his car. "Just get in the car." I held up a finger, telling him to wait. A few seconds later, I heard a car door opening, and I smiled victoriously at Stiles before turning around.

"Get in the car," Jackson ordered reluctantly through the open passenger side door as he leant over the console. "Both of you."

* * *

All I got from the guys at work that evening was jokes about my stench. As soon as I'd gotten in, a full minute before my shift started, I'd gone straight to the staff toilet to try to clean as much gross off my face as I could before pretty much hosing myself down with the body spray I had in my bag, but it still hadn't been enough to cover up the smell of trash. It had been an awkward one to explain, and in the end everyone just left assuming I was really into dumpster diving. Joe had decided I wasn't allowed to be within twenty feet of any customer until I showered, nor allowed to handle any edible products, so I was on stock-sorting duty for the evening. It was the most tedious job in the shop, the one that nobody volunteered for, but it was the only one I would be able to do without scaring off customers with my smell until the store closed for the night.

A little while into the most boring shift I'd ever had, Rachel wandered in with a coffee and a hand covering her nose. Rachel was about my age, tall and blonde, went to the only other high school in Beacon Hills, and was easily the coolest and most laidback person I'd ever met.

I rolled my eyes as she knelt down beside me on the floor, placing the coffee in front of me. "You don't smell so disgusting anymore," she admitted, shrugging. "I mean, it's probably just the mustiness of this room covering your stench, but you still smell better."

"Thanks Rach," I smiled, all sarcasm. "I really appreciate that."

"You're more than welcome," she grinned back. "So, question. That jacket you were wearing… whose is it?"

I had totally forgotten about Stiles' jacket. Telling Rachel that meant admitting I went 'dumpster diving' with a guy, one I'm pretty sure I'd never mentioned to her before. And that would definitely smell as odd as I did right now. "Mine," I answered, and Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" I nodded. "Because I've never seen it before, and it's definitely a guy's jacket."

I shrugged. "So I like to buy clothes designed for guys. What's wrong with that? I thought of all people you'd be up for destroying gender stereotypes."

"Oh, I am," she agreed, nodding. "You know I am. And I like wearing men's clothes as much as the next girl, but I've never known you to wear clothes that weren't specifically fitted to you and your body. At least not in public."

"I… It's Jackson's," I tried, tilting my head. "I borrowed it off him today, I was cold."

Rachel pouted, nodding, and stood up. "So why didn't you just say that in the first place?" she asked, before leaving me to mentally scold myself on my own. A few minutes later, however, she popped her head back in, and I groaned.

"Can't you just leave me bathe in my embarrassment?"

Rachel snorted. "You definitely need to bathe in _something_, maybe tomato juice, if regular water doesn't work, but that's not why I'm back. Jackson's here, said he really, _really_ needs to talk to you."

"Oh," I said, surprised and confused as to what was so important he had to tell me in person in the middle of my shift.

"He also said he didn't lend you a jacket," Rachel smirked, looking very proud of herself. "I'll just send him through."

I muttered under my breath, cursing Jackson for ruining my _obviously_ fool proof cover story, because I needed someone to blame other than myself, and the first thing I noticed when he walked in was the massive grin on his face.

"What's got you so cheery?" I asked him, and he somehow managed to smile brighter.

"You remember yesterday, how I said nothing happened to me during the full moon, and how that meant the bite didn't work?" I nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "Well, I was wrong."

"Wrong about what, exactly?" I questioned, unsure. "That the bite didn't work?"

Jackson nodded, looking like a kid on Christmas. "It did, it worked."

"What do you mean? Did you turn?" He shook his head.

"No, nothing like that. But how many humans do you know can pick up an SUV?"

"You picked up an SUV?!"

"Yeah, I did. Like it was nothing." Jackson continued to smile. "You know what that means, right? It worked. The bite worked." He let out an almost hysterical laugh, grabbing the tops of my arms as he looked the most excited I'd ever seen him. "I'm a werewolf."

* * *

**Thank you so much for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	5. Welcome to the Club

**A/N:**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

So, apparently, Jackson was a werewolf.

A werewolf that didn't turn on his first full moon, still has not or cannot transform at all, and has no other werewolf abilities other than super-strength to our knowledge, but a werewolf none the less. I had tried wrapping my head around it for the rest of my shift to no avail, and I was so caught up in the whole situation running around in my head on the drive home that I almost didn't notice the commotion going on outside the mechanics. Almost.

The second I saw it all, I figured there was a ninety percent chance it had something to do with the supernatural, so I pulled over, grabbed Stiles' jacket from the passenger seat and got out of the car, pulling on the jacket and joining the group of people gathered outside, trying to get a better look. That's when I saw Stiles.

Keeping an eye on the deputy trying to keep everyone back, I ducked around the group and jogged over to where Stiles was sat in the back of the ambulance alone with his head in his hands.

"Hey," I whispered in way of greeting, and his head shot up. He looked over to the deputy who, after a quick check over my shoulder, I saw still hadn't noticed me, before shaking his head.

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw the police cars, and then I saw you. What's going on?"

Stiles looked to his right, where the Sheriff was talking to one of the deputies, and leant forward, sighing. "You remember that green lizard thing that was at Isaac's house?" I nodded. "It was here. It killed the mechanic working on my Jeep." My eyes widened.

"Oh, lord, you saw it, didn't you?" Stiles nodded solemnly, and my eyes fell closed. "I'm so sorry. That's gotta suck." He let out a short laugh, more of a heavy breath, really, before his face settled back into its default setting of annoyed and mildly concerned. I took off his jacket, wrapping it around his shoulders and sat beside him in silence. Despite the circumstances, or maybe because of them, it was the most pleasant silence we'd ever experienced. Well, until it was interrupted by the Sheriff coming back, that is.

"First I find you gate-crashing a _funeral_, then you end up a witness to a fake deputy letting out a teenage murder suspect before slipping and knocking himself out, and now what?" The sheriff asked as I ducked my head. "Did you just happen to wander onto a crime scene?"

"Something like that," I said quietly, crossing my arms. "I stopped to see what was going on, and then I saw Stiles. I wanted to make sure he was okay."

"Did you not realise this was a crime scene?" The sheriff asked sarcastically. "Were the deputies around the perimeter not enough of a giveaway?"

"No, I kinda figured they meant I wasn't really allowed on the scene," I admitted, and if I was in a chair right now instead of the back of an ambulance, I would definitely be sliding down it in an attempt to hide from the Sheriff's disapproving face. "But I kinda thought that any concerns I had for another person's wellbeing might overrule that?"

"Well, you would be wrong," the Sheriff said, before huffing and crossing his arms. "But since you're here… Have you called Scott yet?" he asked Stiles who shook his head. "Great. Amber, can you drive Stiles home? His Jeep is evidence."

"Will it get me out of any trouble I might be in for walking onto a crime scene without prior consent?" I asked hopefully, and the Sheriff nodded.

"I'll forget the whole thing, provided that it doesn't happen again."

"Then I would be more than happy to drive Stiles home," I smiled, jumping up from the ambulance and gesturing for Stiles to follow. We got about a foot away before the sheriff stopped us.

"Wait," he called, and we both turned around. "Stiles, where did you get that jacket? You didn't have it on a minute ago."

"Amber had it," Stiles answered, before cringing.

"Why did Amber have your jacket?" the sheriff asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I borrowed it at school," I responded, keeping the same lie I had told Rachel and frowning at Stiles' deepening cringe to his dad's questions. "I was cold."

The sheriff hummed, raising his eyebrows in what looked like surprise. "I didn't realise you guys were _that_ close." I thought I heard a faint whine from Stiles, which just confused me more.

"I mean, we're not, really," I replied, only adding to Stiles' apparent suffering. "I was just really cold." The sheriff hummed again and walked away, and I swear Stiles was praying under his breath. "What is the _matter_ with you?"

"Nothing," Stiles grumbled, dragging his feet all the way back to the car. "Can we just go now? I need to get home and call Scott, and then barricade myself in my bedroom before my dad gets home."

"Why would you need to barricade yourself in your room?"

"Just forget it," he whined, opening the car door as soon as I unlocked it. "How have you even got your car?" he asked when I got in and shut my door behind me. "I thought it was still at the school."

"Rachel, one of the guys I work with, dropped me back there to pick it up," I explained, pulling away from the crime scene and heading to the Stilinski home. "And she complained about my stench the entire way there."

"You don't smell that bad to me."

"That's because you smell the same way," I pointed out, and he tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"How did you explain it, anyway? My dad didn't even ask, thank god."

I huffed. "I told her, and all my other colleagues that were working, that I enjoy dumpster diving in my spare time. Today, I got carried away, didn't realise the time, and didn't get the chance to run home and shower before my shift started. My very dirty little secret is out, and everyone thinks I'm a total weirdo," I complained, huffing again. Stiles just snorted.

"Welcome to the club."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you?" I asked Stiles for the third time as I pulled up outside his house, and he sighed.

"Amber, I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Stiles," I argued, turning in my seat to look at him fully. "And that's okay. You just watched a guy _die_. That would fuck up the best of us."

"It's not… I couldn't help him," Stiles said quietly. "I couldn't help him, and that's the worst part. That's what's fucking me up."

I was saved from having to find a reply to that admission when a car pulled up behind us and Scott got out. Stiles turned in his seat when he heard the car door slam shut.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at me. "For the ride home, for… whatever," he finished lamely, gesturing at the air between us. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," I stopped him as he reached for the door, and I held out my hand. "Give me your phone."

Stiles frowned at me as Scott waited patiently on the sidewalk. "Why?"

"So I can call China," I joked, but Stiles just looked more confused. "So I can put my number in it, moron." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me, a suspicious frown still on his face. As I added a new contact, I shrugged. "I know I'm not the first person you'd call in an emergency, or if you needed to, you know, talk, or something. I guess I wouldn't be the second person either. Or the seventh." I handed him back his phone after texting myself from it and shrugged again. "But most friends have each other's phone numbers, and we _did _make a deal." Stiles finally smiled, the tiniest smile I'd ever seen on a person's face, and he nodded.

"I don't think I was as spot on as you said I was," Stiles muttered, narrowing his eyes at me.

"What?" I asked, not understanding the comment.

"You asked me, last week, what the idea of you I had in my head was like. I said you were selfish, and shallow, and you said I was spot on," he said quietly, before shaking his head. "I wasn't," he finished, before letting himself out of the car. I heard Scott greeting him before their conversation was cut off when the door shut, and I watched the two of them walk up to Stiles house quickly. Before I pulled away and made my way home, I pulled out my phone and opened the message I had written myself from the unknown number that read:

**_Hey Amber, it's Stiles. You're awesome, and I'm a total jackass!_**

I added the number to my phone, threw it back down onto the passenger seat and drove home. By the time I had gotten to my room and checked my phone again, Stiles had already responded to the text from his own phone.

**Stiles – _Thanks_**

**Stiles – _P.S., at least I'm not the kind of jackass that sends themselves messages from another person's phone to make themselves look cool. Jackass._**

I smiled. Maybe this friendship thing wouldn't be such a bad deal, after all.

* * *

I have never been more wrong in my life.

I had just been minding my own business the next day at school, wandering down the hallway on my way to first period when I happened to come across Scott and Stiles sat on the stairs. I decided that no harm would come from joining their conversation. In hindsight, I should have turned around and gone the other way.

"Hey, Amber," Scott greeted with a smile as I sat down on the stair above them. "We were just talking about Deaton. He thinks that Allison's family keep some sort of record of all the things they've hunted."

"Oh, you mean like a bestiary?" I asked, genuinely, and surprisingly, interested in the conversation.

Scott laughed, and I looked over to Stiles with a frown, only to see him shaking his head at his best friend. "That's what Stiles just said!" Scott exclaimed smiling to himself. "Did you tell her to say that?"

"I don't get it," I said, smiling at the look on Scott's face.

"It's _bestiality_," Scott explained, and my smile, and my eyes, widened.

"No, Scott, it's really not." I started giggling. "What Allison seems to be into could be considered partial bestiality by some people, but that's not the same thing."

"A bestiary is like an encyclopaedia of mythical creatures," Stiles explained as I continued to giggle.

"How am I the only one who doesn't seem to know anything about this stuff?" Scott whined, and Stiles tried to console him.

"Okay, you're my best friend, you're a creature of the night, it's kind of like a priority of mine." Stiles frowned up at me then. "Though I don't know what your excuse is."

"I'm just cultured," I answered with a smile. "Can we find this book?"

"Let's hope so," Scott said, his eyes wide. "If we can, and it can tell us what this thing is…"

"And who," Stiles added. "We need that book."

"Okay, then we need to start planning," I said. "But not right now, we're gonna be late for chem."

"Okay, wait," Scott called as I made to stand up, and he looked up at me with pleading eyes. "I need a favour."

"Sure," I answered, only slightly worried. "What is it?"

"I need you to go with Stiles and get a message to Allison, because I don't trust him to do it justice."

I snorted. "Seems about right. What's the message?"

"Okay, I need you to repeat this word for word, so listen carefully," Scott ordered, before taking my hands and speaking to me softly. "I'm so sorry about the other day. I'm trying. We'll get through this. I know, because I love you. I love you more than life itself, and nothing is worth losing you…" Scott trailed off, his eyes trailing up to something way above my head. "Uh, hi?" I turned around to see what had stopped Scott, only to see Brett staring down at Scott and I, my hands still in his, and I could only pray that he hadn't been there long enough to hear any of the words Scott had just said to me.

"I can explain," I said after a lengthy silence, and Brett just smiled. For a second, I thought he, somehow, understood, but that thought was washed away when the smile dropped and he started backing up.

"I gotta go," he said, hooking a thumb over his finger. "I'll see you later. Maybe. Okay, bye."

I watched him leave until I couldn't see him anymore, and turned back around to Scott and Stiles with a pout. They both frowned at me, and it wasn't until Scott tugged on my hand to make sure I was okay that I realised he was still holding both of them. I wrenched them out, sitting on them, and pouted some more. I needed to revaluate my friendships.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my association with you two ruins my chances of dating Brett Ryan, the giant lizard running around town won't be your biggest problem."

* * *

"So let me run through this plan one more time," I said, raising my gloved hands as Stiles groaned. "Allison is going to subtly get her grandfather to offer her his coat. Once she has it, Allison is going to slip the keys from his pocket and hand them off to us, so you can search his office for this book she thinks is the bestiary while I keep watch. Once we have the book, we come back out here, hand they keys back to Allison, she slips them back into Gerard's coat pocket, and he is none the wiser."

"Exactly," Stiles said, nodding his head before wincing slightly. "Until he realises that the book is missing, that is. But we'll deal with that when we come to it."

"That plan ain't half bad," I admitted, pursing my lips and nodding. "It's going to go horrible wrong."

"What? Why? You just said it was a good plan."

"I said it ain't half bad, I didn't say it was good," I corrected. "Besides, it's us. When was the last time any of our plans went well?" Stiles looked ready to argue, but thought about it for a second, and then tilted his head like he saw my point. "Yeah. Our plans always go horrible wrong. The plan to rescue Isaac from the station, the plan to stop Boyd from getting the bite, then plan to get Brett to fall in love with me…" My gaze slipped from Stiles to Brett as I said this, and I watched him warming up on the field, chatting with the other lacrosse guys as the team got ready for tonight's game. That gear looked so good on him.

"Okay, aside from Jackson, you're pretty much the least affectionate person I know," Stiles said, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head at me as I continued to stare. "And I've met me. What is your deal with him?"

"I really don't know," I realised, pursing my lips in thought. There'd been plenty of guys who had caught my eye, many of whom weren't massive dickheads, but there was just something about him… Something enchanting. I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's the eyes."

"What's so great about his eyes?"

"Have you not seen how green they are?!" I exclaimed, smiling just at the thought of them.

"Okay, moving along before you start drooling," Stiles said with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm up for anything if it means figuring out what this lizard thing is," I answered, squaring my shoulders. "Even stealing from and potentially angering a patriarch of a family of hunters."

"I thought Allison said the women were the leaders?"

"You know I mean, Stilinski. He's obviously calling all the shots at the minute." I watched as Coach clapped his hands together and called the team in. "Okay, you go. I'll leave first, and then you follow a few minutes later."

"I know, Amber," Stiles moaned, rolling his eyes. "We've been over this five times in the last half an hour."

"Shut up, I just don't want any blame on me when the shit hits the fan and someone ends up cut in half with a _sword_."

* * *

The game went horribly. The opposing team seemed to be made up of bodybuilders, with one particularly over-sized 'teenager', and a few of our men had to be carried away. I could hear the groans of pain from the bleachers.

"How old is that kid?" Dad asked from beside me, shaking his head. "He can't be in high school, he's bigger than your uncle Drew."

"Uncle Drew ain't that big. He's just…"

"Built like a tank, is what he is. And he's forty-three and has been in the army since he graduated. No seventeen year old looks like that."

"Maybe he got held back a few grades," I suggested, shrugging, and looked over to Allison when I heard her cough. She smiled at me from her seat, a friendly, innocent greeting, and I knew it was my cue. I smiled back, waited all of thirty seconds, and stood up.

"It's actually a lot colder than I thought," I told Dad when he looked at me in question. "I'm gonna grab my coat from my locker."

"I did tell you you'd need it," Dad sighed, totally loving it when he thought he was right.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Next time I'll listen to you, oh wise one."

"Watch the cheek," Dad warned with a smile. "And don't be long. I'm worried we might have to rush your brother to the hospital before the game is out."

I rolled my eyes and walked down onto the field, making sure to clear my throat as I passed Stiles to catch his attention. Walking around the bleachers, Allison dropped the keys into my waiting hand as I kept walking, and I was headed straight for the school doors when I saw Lydia's car with the light on inside. And I was pretty sure I could see Lydia crying. It only took me a second to deliberate it before I was marching over to Lydia and knocking on her window.

"Go away," she said without even removing the tissue from her face.

"Lydia, c'mon, it's me," I pleaded, knocking on the glass again until she lowered it. "What is it, what's wrong?" Before she could answer I heard loud footsteps coming towards us. I looked up from the car, seeing Stilinski heading for the school until I caught his eye. He stopped, swung his arms out in question, and when I nodded to Lydia's car he hurried towards us, leaning against Lydia's open window.

"You're gonna think I'm crazy," she cried, and Stiles snorted.

"Trust me, there's nothing you could say to us that would make you sound crazy," he promised, and Lydia looked up at him, sniffling. "Literally, nothing."

A cheer rose up from the direction on the field, and Stiles and I looked at each other.

"Okay, Lyds, the school parking lot really isn't the place for this," I smiled, reaching into the car and holding her hand. "Calm down, go home, have a long bath and I'll meet you at yours in a little while, okay? I'll bring pizza," I promised, and she cracked a smile before nodding. "Good, okay. I gotta go." She nodded, frowning, so I just put on my most comforting smile and shoved Stiles towards the school.

"What was that about?" Stiles asked as we hurried into the building and down the hall.

"I don't know, but I'll take a wild guess and say it's something to do with her Peter hallucination." I huffed, stopping just around the corner from Gerard's office. "Okay, you go on ahead. I'll wait her and, like, crash into a locker if someone's coming your way."

"Subtle," Stiles commented, taking the keys from my hand.

"It's not only a warning, but a distraction so you can run away while they're helping me back up," I explained with a smile. "Just in case you need one." Stiles pursed his lips in approval, before turning on his heel and jogged down the hall, around the corner and out of sight.

In the time I'd been stood there without him returning, my dad had called asking where the hell I was, Lydia had called asking where the hell I was, and I couldn't give either of them a truthful answer. The game had finished half an hour ago by now, and after calling him there times to no answer, I went to the office to check it out. Stiles wasn't there. The keys were still in the door, papers strewn across the desk, but no Stiles. I called him again, still with no answer, and then I started to panic. The best thing I could think to do was pull the door too, hoping it wouldn't arouse too much suspicion, and wander the halls, looking for Stiles. I continued trying to call him, each time being met with several rings before it went to voicemail. His phone was on, he just wasn't picking up. Or wasn't able to pick up.

On the twenty-seventh call – I counted – he finally picked up.

"Where the hell are you?" I asked angrily before he had a chance to say anything.

"No time, get to the pool. Now."

He hung up, and at least I'd managed to answer two of my questions. Stiles was alive, and at the pool. Why the hell was he at the pool?

I jogged through the halls as best as I could in my boots, final making it to the pool doors and bursting through them. Had I been less angry, I probably would have been less angry at the sight I was met with; Stiles and Derek, bobbing in the water and clinging to one another.

"Did you guys decide to go for a romantic swim, or something?" I asked, strolling to the edge of the pool and grabbing their attention from where they'd both been staring into a corner.

"Amber!" Stiles exclaimed when he saw me. "Get out of here, and get Scott."

"No," Derek corrected. "Call Scott on your way out of here."

"I don't have Scott's number," I said, and they both groaned. I pulled out my phone and called Allison instead.

"Then run, and get Scott," Stiles decided, a wet arm flying out of the water to gesture back the way I'd come. After Allison's phone rang a few times and went to voicemail, I groaned. "It's here, that lizard thing is here."

My eyebrows rose up my head. "The… you meant the thing, with the tail?" Stiles nodded. "That one that killed that mechanic?"

"Yes, now- oh, for the love of-" I turned around to where Stiles was facing, and there it was. The thing I'd only imagined up until this point, crouched right in front of me, its tail swishing back and forth behind it.

"What do I do?"

"You need to get in the water," Stiles answered, sounding ridiculously calm given the green, scaly creature standing not ten feet from me. "I don't think it can swim."

"You don't _think_?" I scoffed.

"Amber, we've been in this pool for over an hour, and it won't come near the water. Just jump in and get away from the edge, you'll be fine," Stiles promised, and I took a deep breath and slowly took my boots off. "Are you seriously taking your clothes off right now?"

"Do you have any idea how much these boots cost me?" I asked, dropping the one to the floor and wincing at the loud noise it made. "I'm not going swimming in them."

"No, but you might have to be buried in them if you don't hurry it up," Derek snapped, and then all I heard was bubbles when, I assume, the two of them went under for a second.

"What have I told you about the shouting?" Stiles scolded him, and I kept my eye the entire time I crept over to the edge of the pool, my socks already soaked through, and I jumped in, making sure I pushed myself far enough from the edge that I wouldn't come back up within the lizard thing's reach. By the time I got back to the surface, however, it had gone.

"Where'd it go?" I asked, spinning around in the pool.

"It likes to play hide-and-seek when there's no one on the poolside to chase," Derek muttered before he and Stiles went under again. "Now can you help?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You wanna try that one more time with some manners?" I asked, and Derek growled enough to have me rolling my eyes and swimming over anyway. The second Derek's arm was over my shoulders I started to see why Stiles had been having such a hard time keeping them both afloat. "Jeez, are you made of bricks, or something? And why the hell can't you swim on your own?"

"It paralysed me. Now shut up and conserve your energy," Derek ordered. "We might be here a while."

And shut up we did, the silence only broken by the occasional grunt or splutter of water, and it wasn't long before I started to feel the full weight I was having to hold up.

"How on earth did you manage so long on your own?" I asked Stiles, who shrugged as best as he could with Derek's giant arm over his shoulders.

"Aren't you two supposed to be jocks or something?" Derek questioned, and I just scoffed.

"Okay, first off, Stiles is second-line lacrosse. That hardly makes him a jock." Stiles tilted his head, agreeing reluctantly. "And second, I'm on the track and gymnastics teams. Sure, I can run like the wind and lift my own weight without any trouble, but, in case you missed it, you're at least three times the size of me."

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Stiles groaned before Derek could retort. "I need something to hold onto."

"The diving boards," I pointed out, nodding my head in their direction. "Will they do?"

"They'll have to," Stiles answered.

We struggled to swim, pull Derek with us _and_ keep him above the water at least most of the time, but we finally made it. Stiles reached out for one of the base handles, his hand slipping before he let go completely, and both he and Derek slipped under, dragging me with them. I managed to shrug off Derek's arm and push the one off Stiles' shoulders, dragging him back up to the surface to catch his breath before we both went back down for Derek. We both grabbed an arm, barely moving at all as we tried to kick back up with Derek's dead weight, and then suddenly everything was moving much faster, and I hit solid ground with a thump. I looked up, saw Stiles gasping in breaths beside me and Scott dragging Derek out, before he moved to stand between the giant lizard thing and the three of us. He let out a loud, deep howl that vibrated through my bones and, oddly, didn't frighten me. It wasn't like any of the other sensations I'd had upon hearing a wolf howl, like with Peter. If anything, it was calming, reassuring. And it was _that_ that frightened me.

"Hey, are you okay?" Stiles asked, crawling to sit beside me. I nodded.

"I'm totally fine, are you okay? You were under longer than me." Stiles nodded, sparing a glance over to Derek as he managed to pull himself onto one of the diving boards before a crash behind us made us all jump. Scott was crouched, surrounded by broken glass, a shard in his hand, and the thing stalking closer.

"What do we do?" I asked Stiles, looking up at him as he winced in his best friend's direction.

"Hope and pray that Derek gets full control of his body back _really_ soon," he answered, which was not at all comforting. And then the thing just… stopped. It stopped, stared at Scott for a second, and then took off, climbing up the wall and crashing through the skylight.

* * *

I stood beside Stiles, looking over Scott's shoulder and wearing his jacket, since my sweater had decided it wanted to stay wet _forever_, as he flipped through the pages of the bestiary on his laptop. Not a book, apparently, but a file on a USB stick. Which would have been a lot easier to find, seeing as the stick had been on Gerard's keys, the ones we had stoles, this whole time. I heard Stiles huff.

"Is that even a language?"

"It's Latin, dumbass," I answered, rolling my eyes. Scott looked around at me, his eyes wide.

"Do you speak it?" he asked.

"Okay, first off, I don't think anyone really _speaks_ Latin anymore. Unless you're performing an exorcism or something," I muttered. There was a hefty amount of Latin in the many horror films I'd seen involving demons or ghosts. "And second, no, not really. I could _maybe_ translate a couple of words, but nothing that would be of any use." Scott sighed.

"Then how are we supposed to figure out what thins thing is?"

"It's called a Kanima," said a voice behind us, and we all turned around to see Derek and a kind of pissed off Erica, who I hadn't even known was here until this point, marching towards us.

"You knew this whole time," Stiles accused, shaking his head at Derek.

"No," Derek corrected. "Only when it was confused by its own reflection."

"It doesn't know what it is," Scott murmured.

"Or who."

"What else do you know?" Stiles asked, and Derek shrugged.

"Just stories, rumours."

"But it's like us," Scott clarified, and Derek nodded slightly.

"A shape shifter, yes, but it's… it's not right. It's like a…"

"An abomination," Stiles said. Derek nodded, and he and Erica turned to walk away.

"Derek," Scott called, turning the alphas attention back to him. "We need to work together on this. Maybe even tell the Argents."

"You trust them?" Derek questioned, disbelief in his voice.

"Nobody trusts anyone!" Scott shot back. "That's the problem. While we're here, arguing about who's on what side, there's something scarier, stronger and faster than any of us, and it's killing people and we still don't know anything about it.

"I know one thing," Derek corrected. "When I find it, I'm gonna kill it."

And then, they were gone.

"What is it with all the dramatic exits today?"

* * *

"I have to say, I'm kinda surprised you still wanted to go out, after the whole…" I trailed off, tilting my head at Brett until he understood what I was getting at.

"The Scott thing," he nodded, a small smile on his face as he drove me home. He'd taken me out to this little restaurant, just outside of town, and it was adorable. It had the whole log cabin vibe, with the open fireplace, big, wide windows that looked out onto the woods and lake, and Brett was right; it had been ridiculously romantic. Which I wasn't expecting, since I hadn't spoken to him since he'd seen Scott and I holding hands. But, apparently, he wanted to give me that chance to explain the whole thing, which I did over hot chocolate, and from that point on the date when without a blip.

"It wasn't really even a thing," I tried to explain. "He just wanted me to pass along that message."

"And he couldn't have done that himself?"

I shook my head. "No, he couldn't. It's…"

"Complicated," he finished for me. "I know, you said. I'm just glad you guys aren't secretly dating."

"Ew," was my answer, to which Brett smirked. "No."

"Well, that's good," Brett replied, his smirk dimming down to a small, shy smile as we turned onto my street. "Because I was hoping I might be able to squeeze a second date out of you."

"I'm sure I could manage that," I joked, and my plan seemed to work because his face lit up again in that adorable smile and I think I actually _swooned_. All he had to do was smile.

I need to get a grip.

We turned into the drive and Brett turned off the engine, before getting out and walking me to the door. Once I was on the porch, I spun around to face him.

"Will you at least _think_ about watching _The Birds_?"

He snorted. "No, definitely not. I just don't do scary films."

"But Hitchcock is the best, and they're old movies, so they're not _that _scary."

He clapped his hands together, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. If I watch _The Birds_, you'll watch… _Highlander_."

I thought about it for a second. "But I like _Highlander_."

"Ah, yes, so do a lot of people. But very few of them enjoy _Highlander II_…"

"Oh, no, please don't make me watch sequels," I begged, and Brett grinned.

"If you want me to watch _The Birds_…"

I narrowed my eyes at him, and held out my hands. "Okay, you've got yourself a deal. And if you ain't at least a little bit of Hitchcock fan after it, I promise I'll never make you watch another film ever again."

"Oh, you're on," he laughed, and instead of letting go of my hand, he pulled me in and placed the softest kiss on my cheek before backing away again. "Night, Amber," was all he said as he wandered back over to his car. He didn't drive off until I'd gone inside, and as I shut the door behind me I wore the biggest grin that anyone has ever worn. I was totally smitten.

I heard a happy sigh escape, and I strolled into the kitchen, set my bag down and picked up the lone piece of paper at the bar. Daddy and Josh had gone out for dinner, and they'd be home before long. I was home alone, which was why I was so surprised to hear a quiet giggle from behind me. I span around, my back to the bar, and instantly slumped when I saw Erica standing up from the couch.

"That Brett guy sure is cute, huh?" she muttered, raising an eyebrow at me as she smiled.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. "How did you even get in?"

"It's not hard to find a spare key when you know where to look." Erica wandered towards me idly, examining her fingernails. "You should really mix up your hiding spots a little more. The porch lamp thing is getting a little old."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Have you been watching us?"

Erica seemed to think about it. "I think I'd say I've been _studying_ you. You always were the kind of girl I looked up to, the kind I aspired to be."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I said quickly, marching straight past her and towards the front door. "I'm flattered and all, but if I find you in my house again, I'm gonna start calling it stalking." I turned around, my hand on the doorknob, and gestured to the door as I opened it. "Now if you don't mind…"

"Actually," a new voice said from the porch, and I closed my eyes on a sigh before slowly turning around and coming face to face with a smirking Lahey. "We were kind of hoping you could come with us."

I only managed to get out a frustrated groan before everything went black. For, like, the thirtieth time since Christmas.

* * *

When I finally woke up, the first thing I noticed was a throbbing at the back of my head. The next was the chill. I opened my eyes, slowly, and when the bright light above me finally focused into more than just a blur, I sat up. Derek smirked at me.

"It's nice to see you're not dead."

I snorted. "If your betas hit me over the head one more time, I might be."

Derek sighed. "I'll be sure to tell them to be gentler next time."

"Next time?" I exclaimed, regretting it seconds later when my head pounded as my voice echoed off the walls. "Why is there going to be a next time? Better yet, why is there a _this_ time?" In lieu of answering, Derek stood up, flashing a sharp, reflective thing in his hand, and crouched in front of me. "What, are you going to stab me or something?" He snorted.

"Not quite," he said quietly.

"Comforting."

"You see this?" he asked, ignoring my comment and pointing to the stuff dripping off the edge of the shard with a gloved hand. It looked, sticky, slimy, and I wrinkled my nose at it as I nodded. "This is what the kanima uses to paralyse its victims, like it did to me in the pool."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy whatever is about to happen?"

"Probably because what is about to happen is not the slightest bit enjoyable," Derek responded, turning the shard around in his hand. "A snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, Amber."

"Obviously, otherwise all venomous snakes would be in big trouble, but what does that have to…" I trailed off at Derek's raised eyebrow. "You're going to poison me, aren't you?"

"I'm just going to see if the kanima's paralytic toxins affect you," he answered quietly, almost as though he was trying to comfort me with what was, essentially, a poisoned knife in his hand.

"Because you think it might be me?" I asked, indignant. "You realise that I was one of the people holding your paralysed ass above water while the kanima you seem to think I am strolled around us happily, watching us almost drown, right?" Derek nodded.

"I also realise you were with Stiles and I at the station when Scott first saw it," Derek answered, shrugging. "But I don't know anything about the kanima. And I also don't know anything about you."

"What's there to know?" I said pleadingly, shrugging. "I'm a teenage girl who likes to pretend her life is still normal, even in the face of a werewolf-induced death."

"You're also a teenage girl who sees visions of things before they happen," he replied, and I had to admit, he had a point. "And one who smells funny."

"Oh, thanks," I muttered. "Do you often kick people when they're down?"

"I meant you don't smell normal," Derek corrected with a roll of his eyes. "You don't smell like Stiles, or Allison. You don't smell human."

I sat in silence for a second, letting it sink in. I'd heard it before.

"That night at the hospital, the night we realised your uncle was the alpha, he said the same thing." Derek nodded, like he already knew.

"He told me there was something different about you, something only an alpha would see," he explained. "And now I see."

"Do you see anything specific?" I bit out, crossing my legs under me and getting as comfortable as was possible on the concrete floor. "Because I haven't gotten further than 'weird'."

Derek shook his head. "You smell… earthy."

I huffed. "So I smell like dirt?"

"No," Derek sighed, frustrated. "It's less obvious than that. You smell natural, like the woods."

"Are you sure that's not just because the two blondies you hang out with just dragged me through the preserve?"

"Okay, I'm done trying to help you with your dilemma. You can help me with mine," Derek replied, waving the shard around a bit. "And for the record, Isaac drove you here in your own car." He grabbed my chin with his empty hand, and I immediately jerked away. Derek huffed. "Okay, this is going to happen. I am going to pour some of this toxin into your mouth, whether you like it or not. But if you don't keep still, I might end up stabbing you in the eye. So it's up to you. You can either sit still and get this over with, or I can call Erica and Isaac in to hold you down. Which is it?"

I stared at Derek for a long moment, before pouting and muttering, "just do it already". Derek smiled, seeming to like my choice, and grabbed my chin again, tilting my head up and opening my mouth. I saw the light above glint off the shard, saw the strange, apparently paralytic substance almost twinkle as it dropped from the edge and into my mouth. I squinted my eyes closed, waiting to feel it. and I continued to wait. And wait.

Nothing was happening.

I opened my eyes, confused, and looked to Derek. I imagine my face looked about the same as his.

"What's happening?" I asked him, and he shrugged.

"Nothing." I rolled my eyes.

"Well, obviously. Why is nothing happening?"

"Like I said," Derek answered, his face turning suspicious and almost weary. "A snake can't be poisoned by its own venom."

"Derek, come on, I was with you-" I shut off, closing my mouth tight as a wave of nausea washed over me. From the look on Derek's face, I think I might have actually turned green. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Uh," Derek looked around, dropping the shard and grabbing my arms to hoist me up. He basically carried me to a dark, dank bathroom, before setting me down in front of the toilet and then hovering around me while I tried to heave and breathe through my mouth at the same time. I didn't throw up, unfortunately, despite the churning in my stomach and apparent fever I had, according to Doctor Hale, and once I finally stopped gagging I managed to scowl at him.

"Okay, I know you wanted to poison me and all, but I really didn't think you meant actual _poison_," I hissed, breathing heavy as I leant back against the bathroom wall; which was, incidentally, not as gross as I originally thought. It was dry, at least.

"It's not poison," Derek promised, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's the same stuff I used on Jackson, and he reacted the same as everyone else."

I huffed in surprise. "What, are you going to poison everyone in Beacon Hills?"

Derek shrugged, his face turning stony. "If I have to. And then, when I find out who it is, I'm gonna kill it."

"Yeah, so I've heard," I muttered, shaking my head. "You realise no one has any idea _how _to kill this thing, right?"

"Everyone has a weak spot, Amber," Derek said. "You just have to find it."

"So, you're going to keep poking the kanima until it breaks?"

Derek nodded. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

And _that's_ when I finally started to throw up.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thank you so much for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**

**P.S. Merry Christmas!**


	6. That's the Beauty of Hindsight

**A/N: ****Thank you to the Guest who gave **_**Occult**_** it's first review! It's much appreciated, and I hope you continue to love the story.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

"I can't believe they got you too," Jackson muttered, shaking his head as we made our way to our economics class that Monday morning. We stopped at his locker, and he switched his books with a furious look. "What did they think they were going to achieve, exactly?"

"Derek thought he'd be able to figure out who this thing is," I shrugged. "At least his intentions weren't _totally_ evil." Jackson huffed doubtfully, and as he slammed his locker shut Danny approached.

"Do you have it?" Jackson asked, and I rolled my eyes. Jackson had had Danny trying to figure out his video problem all weekend.

"It took forever, but I found a program that can recover you video," Danny answered with a sigh. "I'll run it in my free period this afternoon."

"Yeah, just let me know when it's done," Jackson ordered, and with an eye roll in my direction, Danny wandered off.

"You realise he's doing you a favour, right?" I asked him, and he winced, which was a massive reaction for a normally expressive person, let alone Jackson. "Okay, calm down."

"No, shut up a second," he hissed, staring at the floor with a look of concentration. It was a strange one to see on him, let me tell you. A few moments later, the bell rang, and Jackson winced again, like it hurt his ears. Then he turned to me, his eyebrows low on his forehead. "What the hell is a kanima?"

* * *

"What the hell is a kanima?"

At Jackson's question, both Scott and Stiles swung around in their seats, with matching looks of confusion and surprise. That's when they looked to me, with matching looks of realisation and frustration. I just shrugged innocently.

"Alright, listen up," Coach called, clapping his hands together to get the class' attention. "A quick warning before we begin our review. Some of you, like McCall, might want to start their own study group, because tomorrow's midterm is so _profoundly_ difficult-" _shit, the midterm_. I had definitely let that one slide. I mean, in my defence, there had been a _lot_ going in my life recently. But somehow I don't think Coach would care about the supernatural if I failed.

"I was paralysed from the neck down," Jackson hissed as Coach picked a volunteer to answer a question on the board. "Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"I'm familiar with the sensation," I heard Stiles mutter under his breath.

"At least yours wore off within a few minutes. I was throwing up for _hours_."

"Why were you throwing up?"

"Wait," Scott cut in, looking between Jackson and I. "Why would Derek test you? Why would he think it's you?"

"How should I know?" Jackson asked.

"Wait, do they think it's Lydia?" Stiles questioned, leaning forward in his seat.

"I don't know," Jackson answered, shrugging. "All I heard was her name and something about chemistry."

"Jackson!" Coach bellowed, making the four of us jump and swing in our seats to face the front like we hadn't been doing anything wrong. "Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?"

"Um," Jackson stammered, and when he looked at me for help all I could do was widen my eyes and throw him a barely-there shrug. "Just an undying admiration for my… my coach," he tried, and from the look on Coach's face, it actually seemed to work.

"That's really kind of you," Coach responded, a small smile on his face. "Now shut up! Shut it!" He glanced around the room, muttering "anybody else?" before returning to the front.

"They really think I might be Lydia?" I asked Jackson as Scott grabbed Stiles and began whispering. Jackson shrugged.

"I think so," he murmured, and I turned around in my seat to look back at the girl, sitting diagonally behind me. It couldn't be her. I mean, _technically_, I have to admit that, sure, it could be her. I've never seen the kanima while with Lydia. And she was bitten by an alpha werewolf, but she didn't transform or die. But then the same could be said for Jackson, and the kanima toxins paralysed him from the neck down. Jeez, _I_ had a more suspicious reaction that he did, and I'm pretty sure I was let off the hook after all that vomiting. And, sure, Lydia was seeing hallucinations of dead alphas, which _was _weird… but I saw things that weren't there too! I _saw_ Lydia see Peter, so if Lydia's behaviour is kanima-like, then mine was more kanima-like. I don't… I don't know where I'm going with this, but my _point_ is that Lydia can't be the kanima. It just doesn't make sense.

"Lydia," I heard someone singsong, and looking up I saw Coach leaning towards Lydia where she stood at the front of the class, chalk in hand and crying. I turned to Jackson, my wide eyes mirroring his. "Okay then. Anybody else want to try answering? This time in English?"

The whole class started laughing, even as more tears streamed down Lydia's mascara-ridden face, and I made sure to send many, _many_ death glares.

"What is that?" Scott asked, narrowing his eyes at the unreadable lettering Lydia had written on the board. "Greek?"

"No, actually," Stiles replied, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the writing. "I think it _is_ English." I leant forward in my seat to see the photo as he reversed it, revealing the hidden message in Lydia's writing.

'Someone help me'.

* * *

"Derek's going to kill her," I groaned at Scott as we walked into the chemistry room.

"Not without proof," he promised, his eyes widening earnestly.

"So he tests her, like he did with you and Jackson, right?" Stiles asked, looking between the two of us. "But when and where?" I looked over to Lydia, blissfully ignorant to the drama surrounding her as she flipped through her textbook.

"I think here and now," Scott answered, and I looked over my shoulder to see him concentrated on the back of the classroom. Or, more specifically, Erica and Isaac in the back of the classroom. They looked at us, eyes flicking over to Lydia for a second, before they darted forward. Scott and Stiles were faster, though, and they took a seat on either side of Lydia before they could even get close. I breathed a quick sigh of relief as Erica and Isaac took seats at a desk behind them, taking note at the glare Lydia was sending my way, either for the strange behaviour or allowing Scott and Stiles to sit beside her, before moving towards the empty desk next to Lydia's. It wasn't long before Allison slipped into the class and instantly noticed of the crowded desk at the front of the classroom. She shot Scott a confused look as she sat down beside me, and he tipped his head back towards Erica and Isaac behind him. Then, Allison turned to me with wide eyes.

"They think she's the kanima," I explained, and her eyes widened even further.

"Einstein once said 'two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe'," Harris said as he wandered between the desks, smirking at several students as he passed them. "I myself have encountered infinite stupidity." Harris clapped his hand on Stiles' shoulder, making a point of his statement as Stiles just glared at the desk in front of him. "So, to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or, in Mr Stilinski's case, less than one. Erica, you take the first station. You'll start with-" Harris cut off as half of the class raised their hands, eager to work c_losely _with her. Judging from Erica's smug grin, I'd say she liked it. "I didn't ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down. Start with Mr McCall. Alright, next two."

Allison looked over to me, letting out a deep sigh, and I tried to send her my most comforting smile. I don't think it worked. When Harris called out her name and sent her to work with Lydia, we all breathed in relief; at least Lydia was safe for the moment. That didn't mean I didn't have my eye on the redhead for the entire period.

"Are you paying any attention to what I'm saying?"

I blinked, swivelled around in my seat to face Danny with my eyes wide in question. "What?"

Danny hummed. "That's what I thought," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answered quickly. Too quickly, I think. "Why?"

"You just seem a little out of it," he explained, shrugging to himself. "Did everything go okay with your date?" I smiled.

"The date was amazing, and he's already mentioned a second one."

"Then what is it?" Danny asked again, completely neglecting the experiment and turning to me fully. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," I tried, but he was having none of it.

"Is it you dad? Josh?"

"They're fine, Danny."

"Then tell me what's bothering you so much that you can't even focus on a group experiment," Danny pleaded, his shoulders slumping. I looked around the room. Scott, Erica, Isaac, maybe even Jackson. Too many people with super hearing.

"Come over to my place tomorrow, after school," I suggested instead of explaining. "We can watch _The Matrix_, and we'll talk."

Danny studied me for a long moment, before nodding. "Okay. So long as we don't talk _through _the movie. I love _The Matrix_." I smiled, glad I had at least bought myself some time to make up a story. Or work up the nerve to tell Danny _everything_. Either way, I needed the time. A bell chimed from the front of the class, and at Harris' order, everyone switched. Scott quickly took a seat next to Lydia, and Allison dropped into the seat Danny had just vacated.

"Do you think she's doing it on purpose?" she asked me, and I looked up to see Erica watching Scott from her seat with a predatory glint in her eye. "Is she doing it just to piss me off?"

I scoffed. "Of course she is. And to piss Scott off, to pull the two of you apart at the seams, and to draw all attention to herself." I raised my head from the experiment to look over at Erica, who was already raising an almost impressed eyebrow in my direction. "Yeah, I know _all_ the little games you like to play, Reyes," I muttered, knowing she would hear me over the chatter and noise in the classroom. "Don't think for a second I don't know exactly what you're thinking at any given moment." I saw her smirk, before she spun around and tried to convince her partner to pick his jaw up from the floor. "Just don't forget our priorities here," I reminded Allison, and she frowned.

"I know where my priorities lie," she argued defensively, and I winced. "I would never put Scott before my best friend."

"I didn't mean it like that," I swore, eyes flicking from Lydia and Scott, to Stiles and Isaac, to Erica, before finally landing on Allison. "I just meant she's clever," I said quietly, lowering my voice even though I knew Erica would still hear every word. "She knows exactly how to get inside your head, and that's dangerous. You need to shut her out."

"Yeah, well," Allison muttered, fiddling with her sleeve. "That's kind of hard when she's running a hand up his thigh."

"She did _what?_" I shouted, glancing around the room when a few heads turned to frown at me before settling back on Allison's nod. "Oh, lord, does she not know the meaning of the word _boundaries_? Of course she doesn't; she broke into my house and knocked me out to have me poisoned by Derek. People who know what boundaries are don't do that."

"Wait, she _what_?" Allison asked, her eyes wide, and before I could explain the bell chimed again, and I tipped my head at her.

"I'd say it's a long story, but it's not. It's exactly what it sounds like." Allison gaped for a moment, and I shrugged, as Harris cleared his throat behind her, signalling for her to move.

"Why don't you take a seat with Erica, Allison?" Harris suggested. Allison glared at the girl in question.

"Gladly, sir," she muttered, before marching up to Erica's desk and smiling sweetly as she sat beside her. I snorted, smiling at the sight, and looked up to see Isaac drop into the seat next to Lydia with a proud smile. Jackson sat down beside me with a huff.

"This is ridiculous," he moaned, his jaw set in annoyance. "Why have I been ordered by _Stilinski_, of all people, to make sure Erica and Isaac don't sit next to Lydia?"

I sighed as I watched Lydia continuing the experiment as though her executor wasn't sat right beside her. "Because they think she's the kanima."

"Right?" Jackson asked, shaking his head. "So what?"

"So they're going to test her," I explained. "And if it turns out that she is the kanima, they're going to kill her."

"They wouldn't kill her," Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not even Derek is that psycho."

"Really?" I questioned, turning to Jackson as my eyes narrowed. "You really don't think Derek, the _werewolf_ who killed his own uncle, decided to turn a bunch of teenagers and enjoys kidnapping perfectly innocent people who happen to be a bit suspiciously weird, ain't psycho enough to kill the someone who shape shifts into a giant lizard that kills people?"

Jackson closed his mouth, his eyes travelling over to Lydia and Isaac slowly, and grimaced. "Okay, so maybe they would kill her. But it's not like they'd do it here. And they'll only do it once they know it's her, right?" he reasoned, shrugging.

"Time," Harris called, and I turned from Jackson's hopeful face to the front of the class. "If you've catalysed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy – you can eat it."

I saw Jackson pull out the small crystal with the tongs, looking impressed with the final result. He shoved it under my nose, waving it around a little until he gave up trying to draw my attention from Lydia.

"Amber, there's still a chance we don't have anything to worry about," he comforted, dropping the crystal and turning to watch Lydia too. Isaac was holding out the crystal for Lydia to take, and it wasn't until I actually looked at the crystal in our own beaker that I noticed it. Lydia's crystal was dripping. I know for a fact that I'd done the experiment right, and ours wasn't dripping. Lydia's crystal wasn't supposed to be dripping. Not unless it had something on it.

"Lydia!" Scott shouted, standing up from his seat just as the crystal touched Lydia's mouth. She spun around, licking her lips and frowned.

"What?" she asked, annoyed at the outburst. I looked at Jackson, whose wide eyes looked at me. Something was supposed to be happening by now. Paralysis, nausea, something, _anything_.

"Nothing," Scott answered quietly, sitting back down.

Nothing sounds about right.

* * *

"It's not her," Stiles argued as the four of us stood around in Coach's office. Scott had seen Derek stood in the parking lot, waiting, just like the rest of us, to see whether or not Lydia reacted to the same stuff he had tested me out on. And nothing happened. Nada.

"Stiles, she didn't pass the test, man," Scott said quietly, shaking his head.

"No, it can't be her," he said again, crossing his arms over his chest. For once, I agreed.

"It doesn't matter, because Derek thinks it's her," Allison sighed.

"So what, that's it?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders. "She's doomed?"

"No," Allison said stubbornly. "Either we convince him that he's wrong, or we find a way to protect her."

"Protect her from four werewolves," I pointed out, and Allison rolled her eyes.

"Well, I really don't think they're gonna do it here," Scott thought aloud. "Not at school."

"What about after school?" Allison asked pointedly. Scott just sighed, unsure. "What if we can prove that Derek's wrong?"

"By three o'clock?" Stiles questioned, doubtful.

"There could be something in the bestiary," Allison suggested, and I groaned.

"Oh, you mean the 900 page book written in archaic Latin that none of us can read?" Stiles inquired, sarcasm flying all over the place. "Good luck with that."

"Actually," Allison started, eyeing Stiles with a slight scowl. "I think I know someone who might be able to translate it."

"I can talk to Derek," Scott suggested, shrugging. "Maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove that it's not her."

"So this is how it feels being the useless friend, huh?" I asked Stiles, pursing my lips. The only answer I got was a sigh and an accompanying eye roll.

"You can stay with Lydia," Scott ordered. "Both of you. But if anything happens, you guys let me handle it, okay?"

"What does that mean?" Allison asked Scott.

"It means that you can't heal like I do. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Allison rolled her eyes and turned to root around in her bag. Then she pulled something out. "I can protect myself."

"You carry a mini crossbow around in your bag?" I asked. "Is that even legal?"

Neither of them paid attention to me, too caught up in each other. "What?" Allison asked him as Scott turned ever so slightly away. Something was up. "Did something else happen?" I turned back to Stiles, who glanced at me for a split second before looking away and refusing to meet my eye.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," Scott murmured, taking a small step closer to Allison. "Seriously, if anything goes wrong, you call me, okay? I… I don't care if your dad finds out. Call, text, scream, yell, whatever. I'll hear you, and I'll find you as fast as I can." Allison nodded, and I saw Scott slump a little in relief. "We have until three."

Allison nodded again, and I turned away from their intimate moment before either of them caught me eavesdropping, only for a high pitched whizzing sound to pass right by my left ear. Looking up sharply, I caught Stiles with Allison's crossbow in his hands and a guilty expression on his face.

"Ah, sorry," he muttered, gently handing over the crossbow to its annoyed owner and smiling ruefully. "Sorry. Sensitive trigger on that."

Scott slumped, shaking his head softly before turning to me.

"Where's Lydia now?"

"With Miss Morell," I answered, turning away from Stiles' innocent smile. "Jackson followed her there, just to make sure."

Scott nodded. "Good. Go and wait for her, and don't leave her side." I saluted Scott and marched out of the office and down the hall towards the counsellor's office. I few seconds later, I heard the familiar footsteps behind me, signalling that Stiles had followed.

"That was lucky, huh?" he said, smiling casually like he hadn't almost pierced me with an arrow. I just ignored him, and the rest of his attempts to apologise without actually having to apologise the rest of the way to Lydia. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," Stiles whined as we sat on the chairs outside Miss Morell's office.

"You could have killed me," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes at him. "You could have impaled me with an arrow through my skull, and I could have died in Coach's office."

"It's not the_ worst_ way to die," Stiles said carefully.

"Are you kidding me? It would have ended up on the local news, it's such a terrible way to die. _High school student dies in horrific freak accident in her coach's office involving a _crossbow!"

"Stop being so dramatic," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It didn't even hit you."

"It didn't hit me because I _moved_."

"What are you two doing here?" Lydia asked as she stopped just outside the office door. At her question, another head popped out of the doorway.

"Amber," Miss Morell greeted with a frown. "I'm sorry, did we have an appointment today?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles drawled quietly, so only I could hear him, nodding to himself. "I forgot we drove you to therapy."

I rolled my eyes in Stiles direction before shaking my head at Miss Morell. "No, not today. Just waiting for Lydia."

"And what are _you_ doing here?" Lydia asked Stiles, and he looked to me for help. I just shrugged, smiling.

"I, uh…" Stiles cleared his throat and tried again. "We have a, uh, project," Stiles decided, looking at me again and nodding, pleased. "Yeah, a history project. We're gonna work on it this period, but Amber wanted to wait for you first."

"Huh," Lydia hummed, narrowing her eyes at us. "You haven't mentioned any project."

"That's because I'm embarrassed to admit that I have to spend any time with him," I smiled, glaring at Stiles as I did.

* * *

"I thought you guys said you had a history project," Lydia said as we dragged her through the hall.

"We do," I hissed in Stiles' general direction. "But we figured, since we have that econ midterm tomorrow, a study group was more important."

"So why didn't we just stay in the library?"

"Because we're meeting up with someone else," Stiles explained, glaring back at me.

"So why didn't _they_ just meet us at the library?" I closed my eyes on a sigh, sending Jackson a pointed look.

"Well, that would've been a great idea," Stiles cheered, shrugging. "Too late."

"Okay, hold on," Lydia said, stopping in her tracks and holding up an arm. Jackson just barrelled on through, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her with him.

"Lydia, shut up and walk."

We split up in the parking lot, me with Allison in her car and Jackson and Lydia in Stiles' Jeep. I followed close behind all the way to Scott's house, and used the drive to fill Allison in on my trip to Derek's new humble abode."

"So you weren't paralysed by it?" Allison asked quietly as we got out of the car and followed Jackson, Lydia and Stiles up the steps to Scott's house.

"No," I answered, shrugging. "It was like the stuff just gave me a stomach bug."

"And that was enough for Derek to rule you out?"

I nodded. "Apparently. I mean, to be fair, it was incredibly gross. I spent all day yesterday throwing up."

"But you're fine," she pointed out, looking me up and down.

"Yeah, it's weird. I woke up this morning feeling absolutely fine, like nothing had even happened."

"Did you take anything?" Allison questioned, frowning.

"Not really," I said slowly, thinking about it. "I had some of this tea last night; it pretty much settles anything, but it's just tea. My mom used to swear by it."

"Maybe that's it," Allison suggested, pursing her lips. "I mean, you said Scott's boss knew your mom, right? And we all know he's a little strange. Maybe he was the one who introduced your mom to it, and it's not _just_ tea."

"Are you suggesting that I drank a magic potion last night?"

Allison smiled, shrugging. "I have to hide my werewolf boyfriend from my parents because they might kill him, and we're currently trying to hide our best friend from other werewolves, because they might kill _her_, because they think she's a mythological giant lizard. A magic potion really doesn't sound that out of reach."

The girl had a point.

"Would you guys _hurry up_," Stiles hissed as he held open the front door, jumping around a little as he did. I rolled my eyes and quickened my pace, and the second we were inside, he was slamming the door shut and locking what looked to be about six locks. Lydia watched with raised eyebrows.

"Uh," Stiles stammered when he caught Lydia's unimpressed look. "There's been a few break-ins around the neighbourhood." Nodding, he looked around and grabbed the chair from beside the stairs, resting it under the door handle. Because _that_ will keep out a pack of werewolves. "And a murder. Yeah, it was bad."

I was too busy rolling my eyes to see Allison give Jackson a tip of her head, signalling for him to get Lydia upstairs and out of the way, but I heard Jackson sigh.

"Lydia, follow me," he ordered. "I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Seriously?" she muttered, following him down the hall. "What is going on with everyone?"

"So what do we do now?" I asked, looking between Allison and Stiles. "We just wait?"

Allison looked out of the window beside the door, nodding. "We just wait."

And so we waited. I took a seat on the stairs for a short while, before the sitting around and doing nothing made me anxious, and I moved to the living room window. Then Allison told me to move away, because it was too open and they would easily see me there, so I started to pace. And I kept pacing. I'm pretty sure I'd started to wear a path in the flooring by the time Allison let out a loud, quick breath.

"They're here," she said quietly, moving back from the window. I hurried over to her side, pulling back the curtain just enough to see the four figures stood in the middle of the road. "Give me you phone," she ordered Stiles, who rummaged around in his pocket for a second before finally pulling it out. She grabbed the phone from him and called Scott, telling him to get here. And as she spoke, swinging her crossbow at her hip, I felt utterly useless.

"What do we do?" I asked Stiles, who turned back from the small window to frown at me. "Scott has his claws, Allison has her crossbow… we have _zip_."

"I don't know about you, but I like to pretend I'm the brains of the group," he shrugged, and Allison moved further away from the window as she continued to talk to Scott. "At least until Lydia figures everything out and takes my spot. Maybe then I can be her second-in-command or something."

"I'm not talking about what we do in general, Stiles," I groaned, watching Allison rub her forehead as she spoke down the phone. "I'm talking about what we do when someone's life is in danger. What we do when someone needs help."

"We help," he said pointedly, tipping his head at me. "We make bargains with alpha werewolves, we attempt to rescue new werewolves from jail cells; we do anything and everything we can to make up for the fact that we're fragile humans who can barely defend themselves from each other, let alone everything else out there."

I was silent for a moment, before I nodded. "That deal we made is looking better by the day."

"Scott's on his way," Allison said, walking back towards the front door, handing back Stiles' phone and resuming her post by the window.

"Are they still there?" I asked, pacing again. Stiles nodded, huffing. Allison pulled her phone from her pocket, began tapping on the screen. "What are you doing?" I asked her.

"I think…" she started, taking a deep breath and trying again. "I think I have to call my dad."

"But if he finds you here…" Stiles said, his eyes wide. "You and Scott…"

"I know," Allison said sadly. "But what are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay? They're here to kill Lydia."

"Maybe we can talk to them," I suggested. "Talk to Derek."

"Scott already tried that," Allison reminded me, and I shrugged.

"Maybe someone _else_ can try."

"Well, if you're volunteering," Stiles muttered, looking past the curtain again. "I mean, you're pretty much the only option. If case you haven't noticed, Derek seems to like slamming my head into things, and Allison's aunt burnt his entire family alive."

"Are we really bringing that up right now?" Allison questioned, narrowing her eyes.

"I was just making a point," Stiles defended himself, and I stopped my pacing at his shoulder to look out onto the road and the four werewolves staring up at the house.

"Maybe I _should_ go and talk to him," I murmured, mostly to myself, but I still received a couple of glares for the comment. "What? He didn't seem like too much of a dick when he was trying to paralyse me."

"You are actually going to get yourself killed, you know that?" Stiles asked, shaking his head. He sighed. "Okay, here's another plan. A _better_ plan," he said pointedly, widening his eyes pointedly in my direction. The sarcastic smile I sent him was enough to have him rolling his eyes. "Shoot one of them."

Allison snorted softly. "Are you serious?"

"We told Scott we could protect ourselves," Stiles reminded her.

"I never said that," I cut in, but Stiles ignored me.

"So let's do it. Or at least give it a shot, right?" he finished, shrugging.

Allison pursed her lips for a second. "Are you seriously thinking about this right now?" I asked Allison, stunned.

"Okay," Allison agreed, seemingly ignoring me too.

"Can you guys not hear me, or something?"

"They don't think we're gonna fight," Stiles said, turning to me and shrugging again. "So if one of them gets hit, I guarantee they'll take off."

"Can I get that in writing?" I asked, and Stiles just sighed.

"Just shoot one of them before Wilson tries to make a treaty and gets us all killed," Stiles whined. Allison looked out of the window again, surveying her options.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Derek," Stiles suggested happily. "Yeah, shoot him. Preferably in the head."

"If Scott was able to catch an arrow, Derek definitely can," Allison pointed out, and Stiles nodded.

"Okay, then just shoot one of the other three."

"You mean two," Allison corrected, and I frowned.

"No," I said, stepping closer to her. "Three." Looking over her shoulder and out of the window, I saw she was right. There were only two other werewolves stood beside Derek. _But I could've sworn_…

"Where the hell is Isaac?" Stiles asked, and as I turned to him I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

"Found him," was all I could say, barely above a whimper, before he threw Allison across the room, her crossbow scattering across the floor, Stiles following the same fate shortly after. He smiled down at me, seemingly infinitely taller than I could remember ever seeing him, and I took a step back until I hit the door. "Is there any chance that you like me better than either of these two, and therefore don't want to hurt me?"

Isaac tipped his head, thinking about it, before pursing his lips. "Nope."

"Great," I muttered. He took another step closer, his eyes glowing bright gold, and I held my hands up with a wince in a vain attempt to keep him back, when he stopped short, like he'd hit a wall. He growled loudly, snapping his teeth, but didn't step any closer. As I stood there, the potentially life threatening werewolf stood less than a foot from me and not getting any closer, I remembered something I had read a little while ago. _Trust your instinct_, my mom had told me. So I trusted my instinct, and I pushed forward. Keeping my hands up, exactly where they were, I took a step towards him until my hands hit his chest, and with the slightest push, I felt a rush down my arms and through my hands, and he fell back, as if a wave had hit him, flying through the air and landing on his back a several feet away. I didn't stop to ponder _how the holy fuck_ I had done that, or why I had even done it in the first place, instead using Isaac's surprise to my advantage and sprinting up the stairs. When I reached the landing, Allison was already there.

"Go!" she shouted at Lydia, who was staring at us both with wide eyes. "Lydia, go!" She did, retreating quickly into the nearest room, and Allison turned to me.

"Go, stay with her," I said, shoving her towards the same door Lydia had just slammed shut. "I'll stay with Stiles, you keep Lydia safe." Allison nodded, running in after Lydia, and I heard a lock slide shut. Turning around, I heard a loud smash from downstairs, and let out a long, trembling breath. "Where the hell is Jackson?" I muttered to myself, really needing him right now.

"Amber!" I heard Allison shout through the door before I had even made it to the stairs. "It's here!" The kanima. Because that's what we really needed right now; more mythical creatures to fight. I jumped into the nearest room, searching around to find something, anything, to defend myself with. That's when my eyes landed on the baseball bat. Sure, I'd never played baseball before, and my sporting skills began and ended with track and gymnastics, but hey, it was worth a shot. I slowly, cautiously made my way down the stairs, sliding my back down the wall and hearing more crashing from the left. When I finally hit the bottom step, I peeked around the corner just in time to see Stiles hit a wooden chair with a painful sounding _crack_. I turned back and leant against the wall for a second, taking a deep breath and spinning back around, marching right up to Isaac's crouched form as he stared over at Stiles in the corner, and brought the bat down right across the back of his head. And it actually seemed to work. For all of five seconds.

He fell to the side, and Stiles scrambled up and ran over to me just as Isaac got to his feet again, growling louder and much, _much_ angrier than before.

"Just a heads up," I muttered to Stiles as we both took a few steps back. "It's here." Stiles didn't have time to respond, because Isaac launched himself at us, only this time, it wasn't me that stopped him. It was Scott.

I saw the blur pass on my left, and then it hit Isaac with such force that they both tumbled backwards, crushing more furniture in the process. I grabbed Stiles' arm and dragged him backwards and up the stairs. When we reached the top I almost ran headfirst into Allison, who had been running backwards towards us.

"Are you okay?" I asked her immediately, and she nodded quickly.

"I'm fine," she answered. "Lydia's safe. Can you help me with something?"

I frowned, turned back to Stiles to see my own confusion reflected in his face, and nodded. "Sure?"

Turns out, she needed help dragging Erica's paralysed body down the stairs. Once she was finally situated by the front door, Scott dragging Isaac's unconscious form to lie beside her, I sent Allison the proudest smile I think has ever been on my face, all the while shaking my head at the genius of deliberately missing a werewolf with an arrow in order to paralyse her.

Scott opened the front door, hauling up Isaac and then Erica and throwing them out onto the lawn at Derek's feet. Then he followed, taking a few slow steps onto the porch, Allison, Stiles and I stopping beside him.

"I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott," Derek called out. "You're not an omega. You're already an alpha, of your own pack." I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest as I stood beside Stiles. Derek smiled. "But you know you can't beat me."

"I can hold you off until the cops get here," Scott replied, his comment reinforced by the distant sound of sirens. Derek frowned, turning to the noise, when another sound came from above us. A hissing sound, that sounded vaguely familiar…

Scott jumped off the porch, and the three of us followed suit to stare up at the roof of Scott's house. The kanima crawled from behind a window and came into full view, stalking along the top of the porch, and turned to us to screech. Then it leaped away, scarpering before anyone could follow it.

"Did that just come out of your house?" I asked Scott quietly, he glanced over to me a heavy, almost sorry frown on his face. "Does that mean it's-"

"Can someone please tell me what the _hell_ is going on?" Lydia cried from the porch, and Scott looked back at me, this time in realisation. The same realisation that had just hit me. Derek had been right; when you're bitten by an alpha, you either turn or you die. Anything else is just strange and reason for suspicion. Except it wasn't Lydia we needed to worry about, because she wasn't the only one to be bitten by an alpha werewolf with no apparent reaction.

"It's Jackson."

* * *

"The paralytic kanima juice paralysed Jackson," Stiles argued, waving his arms around when he really should have been concentrating on the road. "He reacted to it normally."

"Yeah, but he didn't react to the bite normally," I muttered. "Obviously."

"You knew," Stiles said, turning to me with his eyes narrowed. "You knew this _whole_ time that Derek gave Jackson the bite, and you didn't tell us."

"Yeah, I knew this whole time. And I didn't figure it was any of your business."

"You didn't… _all_ werewolf business is our business," Stiles said, his voice raising. "Why don't you get that? Jackson has _killed_ people, Amber."

"You don't think I realise that?" I asked angrily, sitting up in my seat so I could glare at him. "Yeah, I get it, your best friend is a werewolf and life sucks for you, but my best friend is a _murderer_. He killed the mechanic working on your Jeep, right in front of you."

"He also killed one of Argent's hunters," Stiles pointed out, tipping his head. "They brought his body to Deaton, because they couldn't figure out what could rip a man's torso like that."

"I don't need to hear this right now."

"Yes, you do!" Stiles shouted, pulling over to the side of the road to turn to me. "He is your best friend, for some reason, and your loyalties lie with him, I get that. But you didn't tell us he was bitten when you found out, and now he's killing people."

"Yeah, that's the beauty of hindsight, Stiles," I murmured, wiping at my eyes when I realised I was crying. In front of Stilinski. Great. "You really think if I had known this was going to happen that I wouldn't have told you guys? That I wouldn't have tried harder to stop him getting the bite?"

"You should have tried your hardest anyway," Stiles reasoned, shaking his head. "You let your best friend turn into a werewolf."

"I didn't _let _him, Stiles," I shouted. "I thought after everything that happened with Peter, with Lydia, that he would've dropped it. But he didn't, and the next thing I know, I'm dreaming about him getting the bite, and then he's calling me confirming it. He wanted something, so he went out there and got it, that's just who Jackson is. Then when he didn't turn, Jackson figured it was because Lydia was obviously immune, and had somehow passed it onto him. It made sense in my head, so I didn't think anything more of it." I sighed, slumping back down in my seat. "Besides, in case you've forgotten, between finding out my mom was killed by werewolves, realising I see things before they happen, and Lydia getting bitten and almost dying, I already had a lot deal with. Excuse me if I let what I _thought_ was a perfectly normal reaction slide by me without too much worry."

It was silent in the car for a long time, before I heard a loud sigh. "Okay, so chewing you out for not telling us something isn't gonna help." I scoffed. "Shut up, I'm apologising here."

"_That_ was your attempt at an apology?"

"Yes, and you're not getting another one," he stated, waving a hand and barrelling on. "So we're moving along from placing the blame to what the _fuck _happened in that house?"

I pouted. "Are you talking about what I did to Isaac?"

"No, I'm talking about the wallpaper – of course I'm talking about what you did to Isaac!" I sighed, hanging my head in my hands as Stiles started the car back up. "I mean, it looked like there was this… pulse, of energy or something, that pushed him away."

"I know, I don't know what it was," I whined, pushing back the stray hair around my face with a hand. "I felt something, in my hands… you know when you get an adrenaline rush, and you just feel so…"

"I know what you mean," Stiles finished for me, nodding along.

"That's what it was, like there was this rush through me, and then Isaac's flying down the hall."

"Does it…" Stiles stopped himself and pursed his lips. "Do you think it has anything to do with the seeing things that haven't happened yet?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it makes the most sense, for the two to be connected."

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, to agree, probably, but before he could, a ringing came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen and held it up to his ear. "Hey, what's… yeah, I'll be right there, give me five minutes… huh, then give me two minutes!" He tapped the phone again, placing it back in his pocket and picking up the speed.

"Was that Scott?"

Stiles nodded. "He's lost Derek, told me to hurry up."

I looked around, taking in the surroundings. "I can walk to work from here. It's not far."

"No, it's fine," Stiles said, shaking his head. "I'll drop you off there, and as long as I'm not in imminent danger, I'll pick you up when you're done."

"Do you think you're gonna be in imminent danger?"

"There's a very big possibility, yeah," Stiles answered, nodding. "Though, that seems to be a daily thing lately."

"Our lives suck," I muttered, and Stiles snorted.

"You can say that again." He pulled into the parking lot and stopped just outside the Beacon's Ballads doors, and turned to me. "Don't leave the store unless you're with someone else, after your shift wait for me inside, and if Jackson shows up, call me and get as far away from him as possible."

"You know," I pondered, a hand on my chin. "If I didn't know any better, Stilinski, I'd say you were worried about me."

"Pretty sure we've had this conversation before, so I'm gonna give you the same response; I'm worried about the mess your gruesome death would make, and the stress it would give me from having to clean it up," Stiles snarked, leaning over me to push the passenger side door open. "Now go, before you're late and decide to blame it on me."

* * *

A little while after my shift had ended, I was sitting with Rachel when I got a text.

**Stiles – **_**I'm outside.**_

"My ride's here," I told her, and she nodded, yelling to the back room to let Joe know we were leaving, and I lead the way to the parking lot. The second we got outside and saw the Jeep and Stiles opening the driver's door, Rachel frowned.

"Stiles?"

The guy in question turned from talking to Scott as he climbed out, and smiled quickly when he saw Rachel.

"Hey, Rach," he greeted, tipping his head back towards the Jeep, gesturing for me to get in.

"You guys know each other?" I asked, confused. They both nodded.

"You know my friend Heather, right?" Rachel asked me, and when I nodded, she gestured back to Stiles. "She and Stiles go way back. I've heard that they used to share bubble baths when they were kids."

I giggled. "Oh, well isn't that precious?" I sang, smirking at Stiles. He just rolled his eyes and turned back to Rachel.

"It was nice seeing you and all, but we really should be going," Stiles said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the Jeep and Scott waiting inside. Rachel nodded, waving me off.

"I'll see you Wednesday. Bye Stiles!" she called, smirking at me a little. I frowned, confused. That confusion, however, was quickly cleared up when Rachel got in her car and I received a message from her.

**Rachel Allen – **_**Now I know where you got that jacket.**_

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at her as she chuckled in her car, and she drove away.

"Are we going, or are you going to continue glaring at Rachel's car?" Stiles asked, and I groaned and climbed into the car. That's when I saw Jackson.

"What the hell is Jackson doing unconscious in the back of your Jeep?"

"Huh," Stiles started, his arms swinging by his sides when I turned back to him. "About that…"

* * *

**A/N: ****Happy New Year, everyone. I hope 2015 is a brilliant year for all of you, and that you achieve everything you want to.**

**Thank you so much for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	7. We're All Going to Hell

**A/N: ****Thank you so much Devon Laurel, you're review was the shit! Haha, I loved it, it was incredibly sweet, thank you.**

**O****kay, so, once again, the school class schedule I've been trying to put together and the signs Teen Wolf give me are not adding up. The class Victoria Argent taught in in the **_**Frenemy**_** episode looked like an English one, but I have Econ for last period on a Tuesday, so... Ah well. From now on, unless it's crucial to the story, I'm going with my schedule. Just so you know.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

"You stole a prison transport van?" I hissed over the phone after Stiles had let me in on his 'master plan'. Allison's head spun to stare at me, her eyes wide, and I nodded, completely agreeing with the sentiment.

"Could you maybe say that a little louder?" Stiles asked, and I'm pretty sure I heard just a _hint _of sarcasm in his tone. "I don't think the _entire_ Beacon Hills police department heard you."

"Oh, well, personally, I don't think they'll need to hear me, since I'm sure it ain't gonna be long before they notice _they're missing a police vehicle_."

"Would you just calm down? Seriously, okay, I'll have it back before they even realise it's gone."

I groaned. "Do what you want, Stiles, just don't bring my name into it," I muttered, rolling my eyes in Allison's direction. She smiled. "Is he okay?"

"He's still out of it," Stiles answered. "I guess paralysing seven people in a nightclub is really exhausting." I huffed, feeling my teeth clenching.

"There ain't any need to be a dick about it, Stiles."

"He killed someone right in front of me; I think I have a right to act like a dick. Just get here straight after school. I need all the help I can get out here."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," I huffed, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "Try not to kill each other, okay? We don't need to go down for theft _and_ homicide." I hung up, cutting of Stiles' snarky reply, and turned to Allison as we climbed the steps into the school. "He stole a prison transport van."

"He also kidnapped a teenager and locked him in said transport van," Allison added, not helping in the slightest bit. "We're all going to hell."

* * *

"I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but your family members have some serious issues."

"Tell me about it," Allison murmured as we wandered through the woods. After last period Econ with Mrs Argent standing in for Coach, who was feeling 'sick', apparently, Allison and I had immediately bolted from the classroom to her car, and she drove us close to where Jackson was currently being kept, spending the walk to tell me all about her conversations with her mom and grandfather. None of it was good. From what I could tell, Kate wasn't the only Argent with problems. I just hoped whatever it was wasn't hereditary. The last thing we needed was Allison turning against the werewolves – we'd all be dead.

"Maybe you should meet my Grandaddy one day," I suggested, shrugging as I watched my breath blow out in small clouds. "You can get a taste of a normal grandfather-granddaughter relationship. I can promise you he's never held a finger against my throat to check whether or not I'm lying to him."

"What am I going to do?" she moaned, turning to me with wide, pleading eyes. "He obviously knows something's up, and I can't lie to him much longer. He scares me."

"He should," I agreed, shrugging. "Hopefully, this will all be over soon. Like, really soon." I huffed, shaking my head. I had enough to deal with without Jackson being a giant lizard that kills people. "What are we even going to do with Jackson now? Do we know how to help him?"

Allison shook her head. "Not to my knowledge. We need to figure out a way to translate the rest of the bestiary section on the kanima. Are you sure you can't figure some of it out?"

"I can give it a go," Amber tried, unsure. "I probably can't give you much."

"_Anything _is helpful right now," Allison assured me, nodding. "Just try. The van's up here," she added, lifting a hand to point through the trees to a clearing. The van sat in the middle, and I could just make out Stilinski by the hood, his back to us. Allison rushed on ahead of me, eager to get to Stiles to fill him in. He jumped when he turned around and saw her directly behind him, but she didn't give him time to catch his breath before she started talking. "They know."

"What?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"They know Jackson's missing, idiot," I explained, folding my arms across my chest as I stopped beside Allison.

"No, they don't," Stiles argued, scoffing. "I've been texting his parents since last night."

I groaned. "You what?" I asked, grabbing the phone from his hands and reading the messages. "Why would you do that?"

"I told them he was staying at a friend's," Stiles explained innocently. "So they wouldn't worry about him and call the police."

"But you ended the text with _I love you_, so they _did_ worry, and they _did_ call the police," Amber growled, shoving the phone back into Stiles' chest. "Jackson hasn't said I love you to his parents in years."

"What, why?" Stiles asked, almost insulted by the idea.

"It doesn't matter why," Allison interrupted. "What matters is they know, and they're looking for him."

"Oh," Stiles said quietly, looking down at the phone in his hands and holding out out from his body with to fingers, as if it were infected with something. "Oh, God." He quickly threw the phone back to me before spinning around and wrenching open the door to the van. I heard a beep, before a disembodied voice came from inside the van.

"_All available units proceed to Beacon Hills Preserve as instructed_," it said, and Allison turned to me with her eyes anxious and her mouth dropping open. "_Proceed with caution until Sheriff Stilinski's arrival. __Repeat, p__roceed with caution._"

"Get in the van," Stiles ordered, running around to get to the driver's side of the van and shooing us in as we went. "Get in the goddamn van!"

We did, Allison pushing me towards the seat and climbing in after me, the two of us squished onto obviously-only-made-for-one passenger seat. Stiles had started up the van before he had even shut his door.

"Where are we going?" Allison asked him, as I called Jackson's mom on his phone and handed it to Stiles, who through it promptly out his open window.

"Somewhere very far from this."

* * *

"Danny said he wasn't supposed to tell me what was on that video," Scott explained to us, shrugging. He had met us, and the van, at an edge of the preserve, looking over the town just as the sun began to set. I was pretty sure I could just about see my house, peeking out through the trees.

"He couldn't tell you even if he was allowed to," I replied, eyeing the van warily before sighing. "He doesn't know. Jackson never told him what it was, and he promised not to watch it."

"So you know what's on the video?" Stiles asked me, and I nodded.

"It's him, on the night of the first full moon after he was bitten." As I said it, I could almost hear the growl he would send my way if he'd heard me, and I winced. "Oh, lord, he's going to kill me when he gets out."

"He said nothing happened on the night of the first full moon," Stiles wondered aloud. "But we know the kanima was at Isaac's house, so if he had a video of himself-"

"Someone edited it," I cut in, explaining. "We don't know who, but Danny noticed a glitch in the video, where someone had played with it and covered something up. He was running a program to recover it yesterday, during his free period, but he didn't get a chance to watch it."

"And you didn't think to tell us any of this?" Stiles shouted, swinging his arms out to the side.

"We had this conversation yesterday, after I saved your ass from Lahey, in case you've forgotten." Stiles looked ready to argue, but Scott jumped in.

"None of that matters right now," he said, holding his hands out between us. "Someone stole the tablet with the video on it from Danny's car. If Jackson doesn't remember being the kanima, he's definitely not gonna remember stealing the tablet."

"Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?"

"Maybe he didn't," I suggested, shrugging. Allison nodded beside me.

"Maybe someone else did."

"Then somebody else knows what he is," Stiles murmured.

"Which could mean somebody's protecting him," Scott added. Allison nodded again.

"The bestiary said _the kanima seeks a friend_, right?"

"Okay, hold on," Stiles stopped us, holding up his hands. "So, somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima, and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? I mean, who would do that?"

"Someone who didn't want him figuring it out," I said, my eyes narrowing as I sifted through all the clues in my head.

Allison shrugged. "Or someone who wanted to protect him from everything knowing would bring him."

"There's something else," Scott cut in, turning to Stiles. "You said the only thing you found online about the kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, it can't be. Tried to kill all of us, remember? I don't know about you guys, but I haven't murdered anybody lately."

"But I," Scott started, shaking his head before he continued. "I don't think it was actually trying to kill us. Remember when we were at Isaac's the first time? It just went right by us, didn't it?"

"You're right," Allison agreed, surprised. "It just ran off."

"And it didn't kill you in the mechanic's garage," Scott added, gesturing at Stiles.

"Well, yeah, but it tried to kill me, Amber and Derek in the pool."

"Did it?" Scott asked, looking between the two of us. I shrugged, raising my eyebrows in question at Stiles.

"I guess it would have, had we actually gotten out of the water," I pondered. "It kept stalking around the pool the entire time, chasing us anytime we got too close to the edge."

"What if it was trying to keep you in?" Scott suggested, and my eyes narrowed.

"Trying to keep us in the pool?" I repeated, just to be sure. Scott nodded.

"Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?" Stiles shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Because there's something else going on," Scott answered. "We just don't know what it is. We don't know anything about what's going on with Jackson, or why someone's protecting him."

"Know thy enemy," I heard Allison murmur, and we all turned to her with confused expressions. "Just something my grandfather said,"

"Alright, I got it," Stiles said, clapping his hands together as he announced his master plan. "Kill Jackson. Problem solved."

"Were your parents on something when they conceived you?" I asked, genuinely curious as to what made him think that was a good plan.

"He's Amber's best friend, Stiles," Scott reasoned, shaking his head at his best friend. "He risked his life for us, against Peter; you remember that?"

"Yes, but what did we just find out?" he asked the group. "He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he got exactly what he wanted by _supposedly_ risking his life for us, it's funny."

"You know what else is funny?" I asked Stiles, raising my eyebrows. "How you are terribly _un_funny, and yet you're the biggest joke I've ever met."

"Oh my..." Scott stepped in between us again, staring hard at us both in turn. "Getting what he wanted doesn't mean he's not worth saving, Stiles."

"It's always something with him, though," Stiles argued.

"He doesn't know what he's doing."

"So what?"

"So, neither did I. You remember when I almost killed you and Jackson?" Scott asked Allison, who nodded, almost sadly. "I had someone to stop me. He has nobody."

"Hey," I complained, folding my arms.

"You know what I meant," Scott apologised, tipping his head.

"Nobody useful," Stiles filled in, smiling at me, and I took a step forward until Scott flung out an arm and pushed me back.

"The next time the opportunity presents itself, I'm going to push you over the edge of that cliff and leave your body there for the coyotes to enjoy," I warned, and Stiles just rolled his eyes. "Jackson has me. No matter what."

"But you can't help him like Derek helped me," Scott said, shrugging. "He doesn't have anyone to help him control this."

"That's his own fault," Stiles muttered.

"It doesn't matter," Scott said finally. "If we can save him, we should try. We _have_ to try."

* * *

"What do you mean, you lost him?" I snapped down the phone, Poe looking up from her new position on the blanket after I'd pushed her off my lap. I'd been home for all of thirty minutes, when I get a phone call from Stiles, letting me in on the bad news. "How do you lose a sixteen year old giant lizard?"

"He broke out of the transport van," Stiles sighed, obviously frustrated. "Scott and Allison were sleeping – partly naked, I'd like to add – in her car, and by the time I got back from dropping you off at your car, he was long gone."

I frowned. "But you should've gotten back ages ago," I said, trying to figure out how he'd been gone long enough for Allison and Scott to fall asleep. Then it hit me. "You went to see Lydia, didn't you?"

Stiles huffed. "Yes, okay, I went to see Lydia. I wanted to apologise for ditching her in her car the night of the semi-final game, and to make sure she was okay after what happened last night, and I _thought_ I was leaving Jackson in good hands."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?" I asked, already pulling my boots back on. "Are we going out looking for him?"

"Not exactly," Stiles said in a tone that immediately told me I wasn't going to like this idea. "Scott and I are headed to the station now; I have to tell my dad."

"Stiles," I murmured, hating the way my voice betrayed me and let the sympathy out.

"Allison's telling hers too, they can handle this better than we can," Stiles continued, and I nodded.

"Do you want me to come down to the station?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I was, uh... Allison and I agreed that we should tell my dad about you, too. About all of your involvement in this over the last couple of months, about your special... abilities."

I rolled my eyes, standing up from my bed and grabbing my scarf. "Do I not get a say in this?" I asked, looping the scarf around my neck, grabbing my purse and pulling my bedroom door open.

"Nope," Stiles answered. "I think it's best if everything is out, and so does Allison. Which means she's telling her dad about you, too."

"Oh, lord," I groaned, stopping on the top step to pray. "Mr Argent's going to kill me."

"Nobody's going to kill you," Stiles sighed. "He may interrogate you, intimidate you a little, but he isn't going to kill you. Just don't drop by the Argent home anytime soon."

"Screw that, I ain't ever dropping by the Argent home again," I promised myself. "I'm heading out now, so I'll be there soon."

"Okay, thanks," Stiles said quickly, reluctantly. "We'll see you there." He hung up, and I hurried down the stairs, poking my head into the kitchen to shout a goodbye when my dad stopped me.

"Where are you going?" Daddy asked, a steaming pot in his hand. "I thought you were staying for dinner tonight." I closed my eyes on a sigh.

"I know, Daddy, and I'm sorry," I apologised, opening my eyes again to throw him the puppy eyes. "But it's an emergency."

"Everything is an emergency with you, lately." he sighed, dropping the pot back into the stove and shaking his head. "It just feels like you ain't ever home. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, Daddy," I tried, but he just shook his head.

"Stop lying to me," he said quietly, sadly. "I know I ain't no Josh, and I can't point out every one of your tells, but I know when something's bothering you." He looked at me, narrowing in his eyes in pain rather than anger, and shook his head. "Something's been bothering you for a while."

"It's just," I started, closing my eyes and trying again. "There's a lot going on right now, Daddy. I have mid-terms coming up, and after everything with Lydia, and Kate, and..." _And werewolves, and kanimas, and me, and Mom._ I huffed, narrowing my eyes in thought. In her letter, Mom had told me she knew they were coming, that whoever had killed her had been following her for a while. "Daddy, did Mom ever mention anything weird happening, before she died?"

Dad frowned at the turnaround in the conversation, lost for words for a second. "What?" was what he finally settled on.

"Before she died, did she happen to mention anything weird in her life? Or was she acting weird?"

Daddy laughed sadly. "Sweetie, not to speak ill of the dead, but your mom always acted weird. It was one of the things that drew me to her in the first place. Well, that and her legs. Lord, those legs..."

"Whoa, Daddy," I stopped him, holding my hands up. "No, please stop talking."

"Sorry, I just... I miss her too, Amber," he said quietly, almost smiling. "I miss her every day. But that don't mean I can sneak out in the middle of the night, or not come home until the early hours of the morning, or miss more dinners than I'm present for. Your family needs you here, Amber."

"I know, Daddy," I sighed, shaking my head.

"But your still gonna go, ain't you?" he said sadly, nodding slowly.

I was quiet for a long moment. "You're not the only ones who need me, Daddy." He continued nodding, waving a hand in my direction.

"Then go," he shrugged, grabbing the wooden spoon from the counter and stirring whatever was in the pot. "I'll put leftovers in the fridge, for when you finally decide to come home."

_Ouch_. "Daddy-"

"Just go, Amber," he cut me off, looking up from his cooking to stare at me crossly. "Go and do whatever it is that is so much more important than your family."

It took me a second, but I finally nodded and span around, marching out of the house and forcing the tears back. I did not have the luxury of time, to cry, or beg for forgiveness, or try to get my daddy to understand; there was a homicidal, man-sized lizard on the loose, and we needed to find him before he hurt anybody else.

Family would just have to wait.

* * *

I burst through the main doors of the police station about ten minutes later, looking around for Stiles or Scott when my eyes landed on Jackson, sitting on a bench a little way up the hallway, wearing a large green jacket and smirking.

"Jackson," I called as I got closer, and he looked up at me, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" he shot back, narrowing his eyes. "Did my dad call you?"

"No, Stiles did," I explained, and he rolled his eyes aggressively. "He said you went missing, and to meet him here so he could explain things to his dad, and we could all find you before you did something horrible. Again."

"Something horrible?" Jackson repeated, raising an eyebrow like he didn't believe me. "Don't tell me you're on the 'murderous reptile' bandwagon too."

"Yeah, I am, actually. It's the truth."

"Amber, c'mon," he whined, rolling his eyes again. "You're smarter than that. Don't you think I would have remembered turning into a scaled freak with a tail?"

"Maybe not," I answered truthfully, shrugging. "It's very possible that you just wouldn't remember turning, or doing any of the things you did."

"I think I would remember killing a person, Amber."

"Two people, actually," I corrected, sitting down beside him. "You killed two people. And we ain't blaming-"

"_We_," Jackson interrupted, disgusted. "There's a _we_ now? When the hell did that happen?"

I thought about it for a second, unable to place it. "I ain't entirely sure; I think it kinda crept up on me sometime between the pool incident and finding out you were the kanima."

"Oh, yeah, Stilinski told me about the 'pool incident'. That was when I tried to kill you, him and Derek Hale after the semi-final game, right?" Jackson laughed, the sound weirdly malicious. It wasn't a sound I was used to being directed at me. "Do you even believe me when I tell you that wasn't me?"

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "I believe that you don't _remember_ doing that, and I believe that _you_ believe it wasn't you."

"But you're taking Stilinski's word over mine," he said, no question in his tone.

"It ain't just Stiles, Jackson," I argued, shaking my head. "We saw you, last night, at Scott's house. You were the only one left in the house when the kanima came out, and Scott followed your scent to Jungle, and he saw you there, both as you _and_ the kanima."

"Amber, it _wasn't me_."

"Jackson, _please_, can you just trust me on this?" I begged, bringing out the puppy eyes for the second time that evening. Maybe it would work better on Jackson than it had on Daddy.

"Can't you just trust _me_?" he countered instead.

"You know I trust you, Sonny, but-"

"No, no buts," he cut in, shaking his head angrily. He stood up, and I just sat there, staring up at him as he laughed bitterly at me. "After _everything_ we've been through, with your mom, my parents, and now all of this... What happened to us, to sticking together? _No matter what_, right?"

"Jackson, please. You still got me, we're trying-"

"Screw you," he spat. "Screw you, screw this kanima shit, screw this _whole_ situation; I'm out." He span around then, stalking down the hall and through the big doors, letting them slam shut behind him. I was only sat there for a few seconds, trying to piece together what had just happened, when Jackson's dad stopped in front of me.

"Good evening, Amber," he greeted, sounding weary. "Any idea where Jackson went? I told him to stay put." I lifted a hand, pointing towards the door while still staring at the wall behind him. He was still for a few seconds, looking at me oddly, before he finally nodded a thank you and marched the same way Jackson had gone.

I had somehow managed to piss off two of the most important people in my life, to the point of not even being able to look at me, in the space of about fifteen minutes. That had to be a new record.

I sat there in silence until I heard noise to my left. And I looked up to see Scott following his mom down the hallway, Stiles close behind.

"Hey, Amber," Scott said monotonously, dejectedly. His mom stopped in her steps and swung around to her son with a pointed finger.

"No, you don't get to say hello to your friends. Get in the car," she ordered, pointing him towards the doors. Scott huffed and raised his eyebrows at me, before slowly moving forward.

"Bye, Stiles," Scott through over his shoulder, to which his mom made a loud noise of objection.

"I said no Stiles!"

"No Stiles?" I asked the boy in question, who dropped down onto the bench next to me with a long, loud sigh.

"He's grounded," he answered shortly, rubbing a hand over his head and down his face.

I frowned. Grounded? "For... for being a werewolf?"

Stiles frowned back at me, before his eyes grew wide. "Right, no, you weren't here. Jackson got here before we did."

"That explains why he was sat out here," I responded, waving my hand and gesturing for Stiles to continue.

"He and his dad, his _lawyer_ dad, filed restraining orders against me and Scott."

"Restr... restraining orders?" I repeated, completely baffled. "What?"

"He still doesn't believe that he's the kanima," Stiles huffed.

I scoffed, feeling bitter all over again. "Yeah, I noticed."

"So, as far as he, and anyone else, knows, we kidnapped him just for the hell of it. His dad wasn't impressed. Neither was mine, actually."

"And you didn't get a chance to tell your dad?"

Stiles shrugged. "No. And there doesn't really seem to be much point now."

"Maybe not right now, but... I mean, are you ever going to tell him?" I asked, playing with the ends of my sleeves.

"Are you ever going to tell _your_ dad?" Stiles countered, tipping his head.

I pursed my lips, thinking about it. _Was_ I ever going to tell him, or tell Josh? I mean, they had a right to know, didn't they? Their wife and mother were killed by werewolves, and now they're living in town full of them, and werewolf hunters, and kanimas, and lord knows what else. And what about everything that was going on with me? I was seeing things, things that hadn't happened yet, and throwing werewolves across the room with the slightest touch. If there was anybody I could talk to about this stuff, it should be my family.

And yet, they seemed to be the people I wanted to keep out of it the most.

* * *

"Just imagine the kind of things they're gonna catch students doing now," I murmured, mostly to myself as Allison and I entered the library. "All the dirty, _dirty_ things."

"I'm not sure that's what my grandfather was hoping to capture when he had the cameras installed," Allison replied, shooting me an unimpressed look, her smile barely hidden.

"Yeah, but everything else is just a bonus," I answered excitedly. We wandered in between the stacks and Allison reached into her bag to pull out her tablet. "I wonder how easy it would be to access those videos. Danny and I would have a field day."

"They're probably encrypted," Stiles replied from the other side of the shelf, his and Scott's heads peeking through the books stacked there.

"This is everything Lydia could translate," Allison said as she pushed the tablet through the shelf to Scott. "And trust me, she was very confused."

"What did you tell her it was for?" Scott asked, taking the tablet and eyeing the notes Lydia had made.

"I told her we were part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," Allison answered with a small, amused smile.

"I am part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," Stiles said informatively. I thought he was joking for a second, until I looked at his face and saw no hint of humour there whatsoever.

"Oh," Allison, stammered, looking from Stiles' innocent face to the hand I was holding to my face to hide my smile. She cleared her throat. "Great." Stiles smiled at her for a second, before he noticed my terrible attempts at covering the giggle trying to force it's way out. The smile dropped.

"Okay, does it say how to find out who's controlling him?" Scott asked, his attention on the tablet in his hands.

"Not really," Allison answered, shaking her head. "But Stiles was right about the murderers." Stiles made a small sound of victory and a fist pump, which we all elected to ignore. "It calls the kanima a weapon of vengeance. There's a story in there about this South American priest who uses the kanima to execute murderers in his village."

"Oh," Stiles said, sounding oddly pleased. "All right, see? So maybe it's not all that bad."

"Don't count your chicks just yet, Stilinski," I cut in, to which he just frowned. "The bond grew strong, and the kanima killed whoever the priest wanted to, murderer or not."

"All bad," Stiles corrected himself, shaking his head. "All very, _very_ bad."

"Here's the thing, though," Allison continued, pulling a book from the shelf and pretending to read it. "The kanima is actually supposed to be a werewolf, but it can't-"

"_Until it resolves that in its past which manifested it_," Scott read from the tablet, looking up at us with wide eyes.

"Okay, if that means that Jackson could use a few thousand hours of therapy, I could've told you that myself," Stiles scoffed.

Allison looked at me, realisation dawning on his face. "His parents," she muttered. "What if it has something to do with his parents... his _real _parents?"

"Does anybody actually know what happened to them?" Scott asked, looking directly at me.

"They died," I supplied, and Scott rolled his eyes. I huffed. "He never really liked talking about it. They died when Jackson was a baby, that's all I know." Stiles raised an eyebrow at me and folded his arms over his chest. I rolled my eyes. "Don't you think I've learnt my lesson? That's all I know, I swear." To be fair, it _was_ all I knew. Jackson wasn't the most forthcoming person on any personal matter, but the subject of his real parents was particularly touchy. "Lydia might know more."

"What if she doesn't?" Scott pointed out, and Allison shrugged.

"He doesn't have a restraining order against me; I'll talk to him myself," she offered, and Scott frowned.

"He doesn't have a restraining order against Amber, either. Why can't she do it?" he asked. "Surely you'd get more out of him.

"Probably not right now, she wouldn't," Allison argued, throwing me a sympathetic smile. "I''ll do it."

Scott was silent for a second, casting a confused glance to Stiles over his shoulder, before nodding. "Okay, what do I do?"

"You have a make-up exam, remember?" Allison reminded him.

"You can't miss this exam again, Scott," I said, shrugging, as Allison grabbed his hand through the shelf.

"Promise me," she pleaded softly, and Scott breathed heavily through his nose.

"If he does anything, you run the other way," he ordered, and Allison raised her eyebrows.

"I can take care of myself."

"Allison," Scott begged. "If you get hurt while I''m busy with some stupid test, someone's going to need to take care of _me_." I shot a glance to Stilinski, who looked just as awkward as I did in the middle of their very intimate conversation. "If he does anything-"

"Like?" Allison challenged, shrugging.

"Anything... weird, or bizarre... anything."

"Anything evil!" Stiles cut in, his face suddenly appearing between the books. Allison rolled her eyes, putting a hand over his face and shoving it back.

"I'm going to talk to Jackson," she said, nodding at Scott. "I'll be fine," she promised, before taking the tablet back from Scott and hoisting her bag higher up her shoulder. Then she spun on her heel and wandered oh-so-casually out of the library, Scott staring after her.

"And you have a make-up test," Stiles reminded Scott once again, already nudging him towards the door. "I'll go and speak to Lydia."

"Actually, Stiles." I held up a finger, suddenly feeling incredibly shy and awkward. It was a strange feeling. "Can we talk? It'll just take a second."

Stiles looked from me to Scott, his mouth hanging open, before settling on me again. "You actually _want _to have a conversation with me?" he asked, his eyebrows falling low over his eyes in his confusion. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, Stiles," I muttered, gritting my teeth. "It's important."

His frown only increased, but he nodded anyway. He patted Scott on the shoulder and wished him good luck, before turning back to fold his arms on the shelf between us. "What's up?"

"I was thinking about our conversation last night," I started. "About telling our dads about everything, and I realised that I want my dad to know. I want to tell him."

Stiles shrugged, still no less confused. "Okay, but where do I fit into that?"

"I need some answers first; about what actually happened to my mom, and about me."

"About your... abilities," Stiles supplied, not asking. "So, are you finally admitting you need help?"

I huffed, loudly. "Yes, Stiles, I need help. And since everyone else in my life is either oblivious to all of this, seriously pissed at me right now or too busy with their own problems, you're the only person I could ask."

"So I'm a last resort?" I shrugged, pursing my lips and nodding slightly. Stiles shook his head. "Not the best way to convince a guy to help you with your supernatural issues."

"Are you going to help me or not?" I snapped, the frustration of asking Stiles for _help_ seeping in and making me angry.

"Yes, I'll help you," Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes. "Do you have any idea where to start?"

I nodded, reaching into my purse and feeling around for the piece of paper I had stored in there this morning. Taking a deep breath, I pulled it out and handed it over to Stiles, who scanned the folded page, the _Dear Amber_ written in that bitterly familiar handwriting, and glanced back up at me.

"This is from you mom?" he asked, his one telling me he already knew the answer. I nodded again, watching as he carefully unfolded the note and scanned the words she had written.

"As far as I can tell, she wrote it not long before she died," I explained. Stiles nodded to show he was listening, so I continued. "My dad gave me her old jewellery box the night of the winter formal, and I found it there, under a false bottom with a load of other weird stuff. Including this," I tacked on, twirling my necklace between my thumb and forefinger.

Stiles looked up distractedly, until he saw what I had been referring to and his eyes widened just slightly. "So it was your mom's."

"I think so," I said, deciding to remain quiet as Stiles read the rest of the letter.

"Was your mom from around here?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"Not that I know of," I answered honestly, shrugging. "But the first time I took Poe to the animal clinic, Dr Deaton mentioned knowing her, that they used to be friends."

"Have you been to see him since you read this letter?"

I scoffed. "No. He totally creeps me out."

"But he knew your mom," Stiles argued, folding the letter and handing it back to me. I put it back in my bag, making sure to zip it up in the small pocket in the lining so it didn't get crumpled or stained. "And the guy is weird."

"You ain't really selling him to me here, Stiles."

"No, I... I meant that he knows things, things that not a lot of people know. It wouldn't surprise me if he had some answers."

I huffed out a breath, looking to the ceiling for a second before deflating. "Fine. I'll go and see the creepy vet."

"_We _will go and see the creepy vet," Stiles corrected, eyeing me. My mouth opened for a second before any words came out.

"I'm sure I can manage to visit the animal clinic without a babysitter."

Stiles groaned, loudly enough to draw attention from the librarian. "This isn't about me babysitting you; it's about me _helping_ you. So just shut up and say thank you like a normal person."

I tilted my head, frowning and pursing my lips. "I don't-"

"Ah!" Stiles interrupted, holding up a finger. "If it's not 'thank you', I don't want to hear it."

I laughed shortly, staring at my booties for a second before I nodded and looked back up at Stiles' expectant face. "Thank you, Stiles. I appreciate the gesture."

"See, was that so hard?" he joked, sounding as though he were talking to a toddler.

"It was actually kind of painful," I admitted, wincing. Stiles just scoffed and left me standing in the book stacks by myself.

* * *

Josh was uncharacteristically quiet in the seat beside me when I drove us home after school ended that day. He had been the same this morning, on our way in, but now he wouldn't even look at me. That had to stop.

"Are you coming to Open Mic Night tonight?" I asked him. _Beacon's Ballads_ had one every Wednesday. I was usually working, so had to attend, but I knew that when Josh and my dad went, it was something they thoroughly enjoyed. Josh didn't answer. "I've been trying to convince Rachel to give it a go. I think she'd be great at it. She sings all the time while we're working, and everybody-"

"I heard you and Dad arguing last night," Josh interrupted, only just loud enough for me to pick up on it. Shit. "He was pretty upset after you left."

"Yeah, so was I," I muttered, drawing in a deep breath.

"But he's right, Am," Josh said, finally turning to look at me. "You're never home anymore, and when you are, you're giving us terrible excuses for _why_ you're never home. We know you're lying to us; there's no way in hell you and your friends are that co-dependent on one another."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

"This ain't a joke," Josh snapped, and my head spun around to see him glaring at me. "What the hell happened to you? What happened to family always coming first?"

"I grew up," I shouted back, a bitter laugh managing to find its way out as I scowled at the road ahead. "I grew up, and I learnt that, sometimes, what's most important _can't_ come first if you want it to stay safe. Sometimes, you have to sacrifice things like family dinners and movie nights in order to do what's best."

"What the... what kind of cryptic shit is that?!" Josh argued back, his voice rising and his glare becoming sharper. "_In order to do what's best_, what are you, the vigilante of Beacon Hills or something?!"

"Josh, just shut up, you're giving me a headache," I moaned, rubbing at the stabbing sensation in my temple while still trying to concentrate on the road.

"Do _not_ tell me to shut up," Josh continued, and I just groaned. "You don't have the right to tell me to shut up anymore!"

"Josh, please," I begged, squinting at the pain as it spread through my entire head. The aching was the worst just behind my eyes. When it finally hurt to keep my eyes open, I pulled over onto the side of the road and rested my forehead against the wheel with a soft whine.

"Am?" Josh said, much quieter now, and unsure. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"It hurts," I cried, pressing my eyes closed hard until I felt something trickle down the side of my face, along my nose. I wiped away the tear, sitting up again and opening my eyes to grab a tissue. That's when I saw the blood smeared across my hand. I frowned, slowly starting to freak out, and pressed a finger to the wetness surrounding my right eye. It came away red. 'What the hell?" I murmured, looking up into the rearview mirror and seeing the blood dripping from my eye. No, wait, not my eye; Jackson's eye. I was seeing Jackson in the mirror. And then, all of a sudden, it wasn't just blood anymore. With the most amount of pain I'd ever felt, something started wriggling just under my- Jackson's eye, and then it pushed its way past and started slithering it's way out of Jackson's eye socket.

I only noticed I was screaming when Josh pulled my face away from the mirror, his own face masked with confusion and worry. I stared at him for a second, and turned back to the mirror to see my own face again, completely blood – and snake – free.

"What the hell was that about?" Josh asked me, his voice a slightly higher pitch than normal.

I sat there, breathing a mile a minute, before it belatedly hit me that what I had just seen wasn't just a figment of my imagination. Something was wrong.

"We have to go back," I muttered in lieu of answering Josh's question, sitting back in my seat and making a dangerously reckless U-turn in the middle of the road, before speeding back towards the school.

"Amber, what is going on?" Josh demanded, one hand tight on the dashboard as he twisted in his seat to stare at me like I was crazy. In his defence, I probably did seem a little crazy right then.

"We just need to get back to the school," I said quickly, taking a corner too fast and almost ending up on the sidewalk.

"Amber, you're scaring me," Josh said tightly, trying to cover up the tremble in his voice.

"Good," I muttered as we pulled into the school. "Scared keeps you fast. I think we're gonna need fast."

I stopped short just outside the nearest doors to the library, knowing Jackson was in detention there, along with Allison, Stiles and Scott. Parking properly wasn't my biggest concern right now, so I just left my car where it was and jumped out of the car, already half way up the stairs before Josh slammed his door shut behind him.

"Would you please tell me what's happening?" Josh pleaded with me, quickly catching up to the best job I could mange in my heeled boots.

"Around about the same thing that has been happening since the night I got stuck in the school with a murderer," I answered truthfully. "It's a little different, enough to add the drama of mystery and to keep things interesting, but it's still the same life-threatening, constant adrenaline rush kinda thing."

"You ain't making any sense, Am," Josh said, shaking his head. I stopped then, spinning around so I faced Josh. "What's happening?"

"If I tell you to go and wait in the car, would you do it?"

Josh frowned, almost scoffing. "No, of course not. Now tell me what's happening."

I gritted my teeth, huffing, and spinning on my heel to continue my march to the library, just around the corner.

I put a hand on the door handle when we reached it, bracing myself for whatever we would see inside. "I think showing you might be a little more effective."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	8. That Ain't Jackson Anymore

**A/N: Thank you to 19irene96 for the review, I'm so glad you liked it that much. Here's the next chapter for you!**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

At first, nothing had seemed amiss. But that was before a man-sized blur had jumped from the tops of the bookshelves, throwing books around the room and shattering the light above it.

"What the hell-" Josh exclaimed, but I quickly clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him behind the nearest shelf. When we were crouched and hidden, a raised a solitary finger to my lips, gesturing for Josh to keep quiet, and he nodded. I grabbed his arm again, and pulled him with me as I rushed behind the bookshelves, trying to keep out of sight until I saw a blissfully familiar face.

"Allison," I hissed, and the girl spun around with wide eyes before she realised I had been the one calling her name, and she sank with relief. That only lasted a second, however, before she was pulling me over to her and berating me.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed back at me, before she caught sight of Josh behind me and hit me with an unimpressed eyebrow raise.

"I was driving us home, and all of a sudden I got this massive headache, so I pulled over, and next thing I know there's blood coming out of my eye."

"What?" Allison asked, her eyes wide again. Stiles clambered up beside her, his expression matching hers.

"What?" he repeated. "There was _blood_ coming out of your eye?" I nodded, but Josh crawled up next to me, shaking his head.

"Am, there was no blood," he argued. "You were just screaming at your own reflection."

I caught Stiles making a pained face. "I really want to make a comment about that," he admitted, shaking his head. "But I just don't think it would be appreciated right now."

"Do you know what?" I said, tipping my head. "I think that might just be the smartest thing you've ever said."

"Amber," Allison cut in before any more could be said on the matter. "The blood?"

"Right," I said, back on track. "Like Josh said, the blood wasn't actually there, but I saw it."

"Like you saw Lydia, and my dad," Stiles supplied, and I nodded.

"Except it was Jackson this time; I saw Jackson's face in the mirror."

"So many comments," Stiles muttered. I ignored him.

"I knew something was wrong, so I turned the-"

I stopped when Scott flew past us, crashing into one of the buggies of books waiting to be stacked and lying there for a second, before shooting back up and rushing to crouch in front of us, wrapping an arm protectively around the front of Allison.

"What's Jackson doing?" Josh asked slowly, watching my best friend cautiously as he stood beside the blackboard. He lifted a hand and started scratching the chalk against the board, but Josh seemed to be more interested in the scales appearing on his body and the sharp teeth protruding from his mouth. "Amber, what's wrong with Jackson's face?"

I sighed, watching as Jackson spelt out a message on the board.

_Stay out of my way, or I'll kill all of you._

"That ain't Jackson anymore."

* * *

"I'm staying here with you," I heard Scott say to Allison on the other side of the books. I had taken off my cardigan and placed it under Erica's head, and she held on to Stiles' hand as her seizure racked her entire body.

"C'mon, Scott," Stiles muttered, his frustration seeping through.

"Can anybody tell me what the _fuck _just happened?!" Josh screeched, pacing the floor behind me. I closed me eyes, listening to him freak out. "Jackson... he was half green, and he had scales! And, like, fangs! Amber, what the fuck is going on? Am I high? Did somebody drug me? Because this is _so _not funny. Oh my god, maybe I'm going insane. How else could Jackson turn _scaly_, and then jump through a window? I mean, I'm pretty sure I saw a tail. Since when does Jackson have-"

"Damn it, Josh!" I finally snapped, spinning around on my knees to glare up at him. "I swear, I will explain all of this later, but in case you ain't noticed, there are more important things than your freak-out happening _right this second, _so you can either be useful and call camera boy over there an ambulance, or you can go and freak out in the car, okay?" Josh stared at me for a second, his eyes still wide in panic and utter bewilderment, before he snapped out of it with a jerky nod of his head. He pulled out his phone and called 911. "And as for you, McCall," I warned, turning to stare at him through the bookshelves. "You need to get Erica to Derek, like, five minutes ago. Josh and I will stay here with Allison." Scott nodded reluctantly, taking one more long look at Allison, before kissing her forehead and moving to pull Erica into his arms. I clapped my hands together, rather pleased with _that_ outcome, if nothing else, and pursed my lips. "So," I started, standing up and leaning against the shelves beside Allison, Josh hanging up and walking over to stand beside me. "How're we gonna explain this one?"

* * *

"So... Jackson's a werewolf," Josh said, tipping his head slowly. I huffed, frustrated.

"No, he's _supposed_ to be a werewolf," I corrected, pacing up at down Josh's room the next night. It was the first time Daddy had left us in the house together after everything in the library, and I didn't want him overhearing anything. Josh sat on the edge of his bed, staring up at me with wide, confused eyes. "He was bitten, by..."

"Peter Hale," he answered, nodding sharply and surely. I smiled.

"Right, Peter Hale. But he never _became_ a werewolf, because... of some reason, that I ain't entirely sure of, but, whatever, he became the kanima instead."

"Okay," he breathed, nodding. "So where do you fit into this? When did you become involved?"

"Well, I became properly involved the same time Jackson did. He figured out that Scott was a werewolf, and we talked about it. I thought he was crazy, of course, but then everything started to make sense; his newfound lacrosse abilities, the digging up of dead bodies, the hanging out with known murder suspect Derek Hale-"

"Also a werewolf," Josh added, pointing a finger and smiling.

"Right, also a werewolf. So I started contemplating it, and, before I know it, Stiles is confirming it and I'm being threatened in the hospital by Peter Hale."

"So is Jackson being involved why you're involved?" Josh asked, frowning. "You're involved by association?"

"Well," I drew out, wincing a little. "I was originally involved because Jackson got me involved, yes. But I have the sneaking suspicion that it would have happened eventually anyway, whether I like it or not."

"What does that mean?" Josh asked, before he gasped, and his eyes widened. "Are you a werewolf too?" he asked, and all I could do was roll my eyes. "You've been weird lately, and not just in the secret-keeping sense, but like there's something going on with _you_. You're _so_ a werewolf."

"I ain't a werewolf, Josh," I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "But you're right, there is something going on with me, we just ain't sure what it is yet."

"We?" Josh asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I nodded. "Stiles is helping me figure it out, and Allison and Scott know about it too."

"You told them about it before you told me and Dad?" he asked, obviously hurt. I sighed. This had taken a bad turn, and we still had a way to go.

"It ain't like I confided in them with this or anything," I tried, sitting down on the bed beside Josh. "They just all happened to be present at times when it showed itself. Kinda like how you were present in the car earlier on when it happened, and now I'm explaining all of this to you."

"When _what _happened, though?" he urged, shoving his shoulder into mine gently. "You still haven't told me. In the library yesterday, you were saying something about seeing Jackson, and seeing blood where there wasn't any."

"That's just it, I _keep_ seeing things that aren't there, or feeling them... just sensing them, I guess."

"Like what?"

"Like... the night at the video store, with the 'mountain lion', everything went into overdrive, I guess; the lights were too bright, the noises around me were too loud, and I knew something was very wrong. That was the first time, but it's been happening ever since. The night of the parent-teacher conferences, for instance, I felt myself get hit by a car, and then when I finally came back to myself, and realised it hadn't actually happened, I saw the Sheriff and knew it was him."

"So, stuff like that keeps happening? You sensing occurrences before they actually happen?" I nodded, humming, and Josh narrowed his eyes. "Are you psychic?"

"Wha-" I started, remembering Stiles suggesting the same thing and huffing. "No, Josh, I ain't psychic. I... just have psychic visions, occasionally." Yeah, sure thing Amber, because that _totally_ made sense.

"I think you might be psychic," Josh continued, nodding his head as he seemed to think about it.

"But it ain't just the visions, or whatever they are," I argued, taking a deep breath. The other night, when I was at Scott's house..."

"When Derek Hale thought Lydia was the kanima, and he came to kill her?"Josh asked, and I nodded.

"Yeah, then. Well, Derek's pack was there, and, at one point, Isaac got into the house. And he came at me."

"Isaac _Lahey_? The kid who's terrified of everybody? _He _came at you?"

I nodded. "Becoming a werewolf does funny things to a person," I tried to explain, shrugging. "Anyway. He came at me, and instinctually put my hands up, to protect myself. And it worked... very well."

"Why do I think there's more to this account than just normal, human self-preservation?" Josh asked, warily.

"Because there's more to this account than just normal, human self-preservation," I said, nodding. "When I put my hands up, it was like some kind of invisible wall went up with them. And then I touched him, only lightly, I just sort of put my hands on his chest, and he went flying down the hall."

"So you're psychic _and_ telekinetic," Josh said surely, like it explained everything.

I huffed again, letting my head fall into my hands, elbows propped up on my knees.

"There's something else, Josh," I started, lifting my head up and trying to gather every ounce of courage I had, knowing I'd need it to tell him this. "It's less about me, and more about us... about Mom."

Instantly, Josh's face went from contemplative to a blank wall. It wasn't that he didn't like talking about Mom; he loved hearing funny stories about her, or looking through old family photographs. But the second the Mom-conversation took a serious turn, he shut down, like he couldn't handle it.

"I know you'd rather not talk about it, but I need to say it," I pleaded, grabbing his hands and holding on tight. "I need you to know."

"Know what?" he managed to croak out, his eyebrows low over his eyes.

"You remember what I told you about Kate Argent?" Josh nodded, having gone through it all with him over the last hour or so. "Well, I once told her and Allison what had happened to Mom, and she looked into it. She managed to get the police files and everything, don't ask me how. But she found something, and she told me the night she captured Derek Hale."

Josh's frown hardened. "What could she have found that's _so_ bad it's taken you until now to tell me?"

"Mom wasn't killed in a random animal attack, Josh. She was killed by werewolves."

* * *

I ignored my phone for the third time in the last five minutes, opting again to continue the important conversation I was having with Josh.

"She doesn't even say what the key was for," Josh whined, rubbing his hand against his forehead. We had moved into my bedroom after I had told him about Mom, about her death, so I could show her the jewellery box, and everything that was hidden in there, including both the key and the note. "Why wouldn't she tell you that, instead of just leaving you more confused?"

"I asked myself that same question when I read the letter the first time," I admitted, pacing my bedroom floor. "Stiles and I are going to visit Dr Deaton, at some point. Mom said he can be trusted, and I need some more answers than the terribly cryptic ones she left me."

"Since when are you and Stiles so chummy?" Josh asked, looking up from reading the letter for the fourth time. That's when my phone started ringing. Again. "And why is he calling you so much?"

"I don't know," I muttered, finally picking up the phone and holding it to my ear. "Stiles, I'm kinda busy."

"Hello to you too, Wilson," he greeted sarcastically. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. And no, I'm not in immediate mortal danger, even though one might think that, since I've been calling you over and over, to no answer whatsoever. Nice to know I'd be able to count on you in a life or death situation."

"If you called just to be sarcastic, I have better things to be wasting my time doing."

"No, that is not why I called, it's just part of our typical conversation, now," Stiles sighed. "My dad found something." I perked up.

"Like, a _something_, something?" I asked.

"Yeah, definitely a _something_, something," he answered. "And it has a lot to do with that terrible judgement in character you don't think you suffer from."

I frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that all the victims, all the people the kanima killed, are the same age; they were all twenty-four."

"Didn't you say the other day that the kanima killed Isaac's dad? I mean, I might be wrong here, but I'm pretty sure he was a little older than twenty-four."

"Funny, Wilson," Stiles huffed. "Yes, Isaac's dad was older than twenty-four, but Isaac had a brother. He died in combat a couple of years ago, but if he were still alive today, he'd be..."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say twenty-four," I murmured.

"Bingo," Stiles confirmed. "Camden Lahey would be twenty-four today, just like all the other kanima victims. So then my dad and I got thinking; if they're all the same age, they were probably in the same class, right?"

"Yeah, they'd more than likely all be in the same school year."

"So we looked into it. Turns out, they were. Isaac's bother, the couple and the mechanic were all in the class of 2008, and they all shared a one particular class together. Now, using your adequate detective skills and all the clues I laid out for you during this conversation, would you like to hazard a guess as to which class it was they had together?"

"What clues?" I asked, frowning. "Are you talking about the comment on my 'terrible' judgement in char-" I cut myself off, the name hitting me out of nowhere. "Harris."

"Harris," Stiles repeated. "I don't know about the hunter, because that's Argent business and the police department doesn't know anything about it, and Isaac's dad's involvement is still as yet undetermined, but all the other victims, and Camden Lahey, were all in Harris' chemistry class. How much do you want to bet that isn't a coincidence?"

* * *

"I was in the ER for six hours," I heard that weird camera guy complain to Stiles and Scott as I got out of my car that morning. Josh took one look at the back of Scott's head and took the long way towards morning practice, avoiding going anywhere near the guy. I suppose I could understand his thinking; it was only a few weeks ago that I had been doing my best to avoid Scott too.

"Do you want to know the truth, Matt?" Stiles asked crossly as I slammed my door shut and locked up the car. "Your little bump on the head is about _this_ high on our list of problems right now." Stiles crouched down, so his hand was inches from the ground, and glared back up at Matt. I stopped beside him as he stood up, still glowering.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked camera guy – Matt – ever the mediator.

"Yeah, I'm fine now," he responded, shrugging. "So, you didn't get any tickets last night either." Scott shook his head as I frowned.

"Are they still selling?" Scott asked him, and he shook his head.

"Uh, no," he answered. "But I managed to find two online. You should keep trying. Sounds like everyone's gonna be there." He turned around and started ascending the steps as Scott turned back to us.

"I don't like him," Stiles muttered. I hummed.

"Me neither," I agreed, scowling as my eyes followed him leaving. "Everyone's gonna be where, exactly?"

"The rave tonight," Scott answered. "Jackson's already got a ticket."

I huffed. "So have I."

"You what?" Scott asked, his eyes widening to turn to Stiles.

"You just solved one of our problems, Wilson," Stiles grinned, like he was glad I was finally making myself useful.

"How, exactly?" I asked, frowning.

"We couldn't get any tickets," Stiles explained, shrugging. "But now we've got yours."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You mean _I_'ve got mine. You guys aren't having my ticket."

"But Jackson's gonna be there!" Scott whined, eyeing me with those puppy-dog eyes.

"Then y'all can take comfort in the knowledge that I will be there too," I smiled sweetly, stepping between them and continuing towards the steps.

"But the person that's controlling the kanima is gonna be there too," Scott rushed to say, he and Stiles close behind as I started making my way up the steps. "He has to make sure Jackson gets the job done."

I frowned. "Did you say creepy camera guy was going too?" I asked, and Scott nodded, obviously not sure where I was going with this. "Maybe it's Matt," I suggested, shrugging and pulling the door open. "He's going to the rave, he was in the library, and he's just generally weird. I don't like him."

"Okay," Scott cut in, stepping in front of me to stop me from walking any further. "From now on, no one can accuse someone of _murdering_ people unless they have evidence other than 'I don't like him'.

"I gave you 'he's just generally weird', didn't I?"

* * *

I heard my name being shouted down the hallway as I made my way towards chemistry after my time in the library feeling sorry for myself, and I turned without stopping to see Stiles scrambling through the sea of students, trying to catch up to me.

I huffed, not really in the mood. "Can I help you?" I muttered when he finally got close enough to hear it.

"I'm sure even if you could, you wouldn't," he thought aloud, and I had to agree.

"So what do you want?"

"To thank you for your helpful attitude this morning, regarding the tickets for tonight, and to let you know we had to walk down a dark and dangerous road to get some others."

"I'm sure it was an enlightening experience for you," I murmured, stopping and turning around with a sigh. "Is that all?"

"No, actually," Stiles said, glaring at me a little. Just a little. "Scott and I are going to see Deaton after school, and you're coming with."

"Oh," I said, perking up slightly. "For your thing or for my thing?"

"Okay, don't you think it's _all_ kind of an _our_ thing by this point?" Stiles asked, his head shaking from side to side slowly.

"Oh, okay," I nodded, all seriousness. "So, are we seeing Dr Deaton for our thing or for our thing?"

"You're hilarious," Stiles deadpanned, glowering at me as I walked around him and continued towards chemistry. "And it's for both. We need something to try to contain Jackson, therefore hopefully also containing whoever is controlling Jackson, and I figured we could kill two birds with one stone and ask him about your mom while we're there."

I nodded. "Okay, sounds good."

"Does it?" Stiles asked, wincing. "Does it _really_?"

"Stiles," I said, stopping in my tracks and turning to face him. "Nothing in which I have to spend time with you sounds good to me, not _really_. But if it means finding answers to why I'm able to see people getting hurt before they do, or why I'm able to throw werewolves across the room with the slightest touch, or why the kanima toxins didn't paralyse me when they _really_ should have, I can pretend."

I raised my eyebrows finally, and spun back around to march towards chemistry. "Wow," I heard Stiles muttered as he followed. "You are just _extra_ bitchy today."

"Then leave," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I can't, we're headed to the same class," Stiles answered, sounding like he was wearing the most sarcastic smile to have ever existed. "You remember, the one that's taught by the crazy guy obsessed with torturing his students that you love so much, and who also happens to have taught at least three of the people the kanima killed and the son of a fourth?"

"Yes, Stiles, it's funny how I remember all of the terrible things going on in my life right now," I said, overly chipper. "You know, one of my favourite teachers, the one who's trying to help me get into a great college because he truly thinks I deserve it, being linked to a growing list of people killed by my best friend in lizard form. It would be a lot easier to get through the day if I forgot all of that, but, unfortunately, _yes_, Stiles, I do remember."

"Okay, I'm really not qualified to deal with you right now," Stiles muttered, looking around him. "Where's Allison when you need her?"

"I don't know, maybe she's in a meeting with the patriarch hunter of the family, the one who's trying to hunt down and kill my best friend, and probably yours at some point too, while also being our principal, because the one before him _mysteriously_ disappeared," I suggested, and Stiles winced at me. "Or, maybe, she's with Scott, cooped up in some janitor's closet or hiding in a classroom, because her entire family, you know, the werewolf hunters, will kill him the second they get wind that they're still dating."

"What is the matter with you today?"

"Our lives suck, Stiles," I whined, spinning to face him again. "They _suck_. Yesterday, I had to tell my baby brother that his mom was _murdered_, and then make him swear he wouldn't tell Daddy anything. He's fourteen!"

"I know, it sucks, I get it," Stiles tried, holding his hands up. "But you said you wanted answers before you told your dad anything."

"He hasn't spoken to me in three days," I whined, horrified to realise I couldn't see properly because of the tears piling up in my eyes. I cleared my throat and shook my head, trying to will them away. I took a deep breath. "Not since I ditched _another _family dinner to meet you guys at the station."

"Amber, I'm the son of the Sheriff, and someone has a restraining order against me," Stiles said, shrugging. "Trust me, I get it. But right now, people are _dying_, and we need to do everything we can to save them."

"So what?" I scoffed, shrugging. "We just keep lying to our parents, constantly letting them down and disappointing them in the hopes that we might get a win and save someone's life?"

"That's exactly what we do," Stiles answered, nodding his head with wide eyes. "Because saving someone's _life_ is more important than saving someone from disappointment, even if that someone is family. _Especially _if that someone is family, because when it's all over, when we've solved the mystery and saved a life, they'll still be there. It sucks right now, but he's your dad, and he'll still be there. He's always gonna be there."

I sighed, smiling slightly and feeling a little better, but reluctant to admit to Stiles that it had been _his_ doing.

"You can't promise that," I muttered instead.

"I can," Stiles argued, holding up a finger. "And I will. And if I'm wrong, and your dad now hates you for life, I'll..." he looked around him, before finally plucking at his jacket. "I'll eat my jacket." I rolled my eyes, unable to force the smile away. "I'll eat all of it, and I won't even allow myself ketchup to help get it down. Every mouthful will be cotton, and the odd bite of plastic."

* * *

"Amber!" Dr Deaton greeted as he pulled back the little door by the desk to lead us into the back room. "I'm surprised to see you here. After our last conversation..."

"You completely freaked me out and I wanted to stay as far away from you as possible," I finished for him, only afterwards realising how rude that sounded. "Sorry," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I just meant..."

"You didn't know that I knew your mother, and my talking about her was strange for you," he supposed, giving me that smile that now seems a little less creepy than the last time I had seen it.

"Exactly," I agreed, nodding. "I thought you were a total creep. But, since then, I have been... otherwise convinced."

"By your mother?" he asked, and I felt my mouth drop open. He smiled.

"Do you see why I thought you were a creep?"

"How'd you know that?" Stiles asked him, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed him suspiciously.

"Like I told you once before, Amber, your mother and I were friends," Deaton explained, leaning against the table. "More than that, we were allies, confidants. She had put together a plan, incase anything should ever to happen to her, while you were just a baby, and she contacted me a few weeks before her death to ensure I followed the plan through."

"And what was that plan?" Amber asked, hoping the tremble in her voice wasn't as loud as it had sounded to her own ears.

"The first step was to make sure you came here," Deaton answered, nodding his head. "I know you hadn't found the letter before you moved, so your uncle Andrew had to push your father, convince to move out here."

"Okay, wait," I cut in, holding up a hand. "How do you know my uncle Drew?"

"That's really the most important question you could up with right now?" Stiles muttered. "How do you know about the _letter_?"

Deaton smiled again. "I know Andrew like I knew your mother. We've been in contact a lot since you moved here; I've been keeping him updated. And the letter was part of the plan, it always had been. Kendra knew that, if she wasn't able to explain things to you herself, she needed to find another way to do it. So she wrote you a letter, once she realised her time was almost up, and left it somewhere safe, somewhere only you would find it."

"Are you saying Drew knows about all of this?" I asked him, my eyes narrowing. "Did he know about Mom, about how she died?" Deaton nodded, and I scoffed. "How the hell could he have not told me any of this?"

"She didn't want you to know," Deaton answered softly, shaking his head slowly and sadly. "She wanted you to stay out of this for as long as possible. We weren't to tell you until you came to us."

I took a deep breath, dropping my head back to stare at the ceiling for a long second, before putting a hand in my bag and pulling out a key and a piece of paper.

"Okay, so you already know about the letter," I said, dropping them both down onto the metal table in front of me. "But I have some other questions."

"Shoot," Deaton offered, crossing his arms and smiling. "I'll do my best to answer them."

"Good," I said, nodding and drawing in another deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Do you know who killed my mom?"

"No," Deacon answered shortly.

"Figures," I muttered, and Deaton nodded.

"I've tried to find out, spoken to a few friends closer to Nashville, but all they've heard are rumours. As soon as I know something solid, so will you."

I nodded, too strung out to worry about being gracious and saying thank you. I fiddled with the key on the table, twirling it between my fingers. "What's the key for? She said to keep it and the necklace safe, that I'd need them. Why? What's so special about them?"

"Well, the necklace," he started, gesturing at where it lay against my chest. "That's a family heirloom. It's value is purely sentimental. However, it's symbol are widely recognised throughout the supernatural community, and widely respected. You'll probably find it useful in the future. People will know who you are."

"And the key?" I prompted, tapping it with a finger.

"In the future, most of the time, anyway, you'll find you're the only key you need to access places, boxes, et cetera," Deaton answered, waving a hand as he turned his back on us to make his way into his office. "Or, your blood, at least," he added, to which both Stiles and Scott turned to me with raised eyebrows.

"Your blood is the key," Stiles said with a deepened voice. "It sounds like a line from a bad movie."

Deaton came back out a second later, holding a rather large brown and gold box in his hands, a golden padlock swinging just barely from the movement.

"That looks old," I muttered, folding my arms over my chest. Deaton chuckled quietly.

"I think you'll find _most_ things of importance are old," he replied, setting the box onto the table between us. "On the odd occasion, your blood won't work; that's when you'll need the key." I ran a hand over the rounded top, over the raised gold metalwork. Over the lid, ingrained in the metal, I could make out the same design as my necklace; the three wolves surrounding the moon. It was beautiful.

"What's in there?" I murmured, unable to draw my hand away.

"A few things," Deaton answered. "Things your mother wanted you to have when you came to me. You can open it, if you'd like. It's yours now."

I looked up at Stiles, and past him to Scott, both of whom nodded back at me. So I picked up the key, placed it in the keyhole, and the padlock clicked open. I pulled it out from the loops and dropped it down into the table with a clang, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Am I going to really hate what's in here?" I asked Deaton, glancing back up at him. He smiled.

"Possibly," he answered honestly, which for some odd reason actually calmed me a little. "But isn't hating the answer you find better than finding no answer at all?"

I tipped my head, agreeing with him, and with shaking hands, I pushed up the lid of the box and peered inside. The first thing I saw was a brown book.

"What's this for?" I asked, lifting out the heavy, leather-bound book and lowering it to the table in front of me.

"That is your family's grimoire," Deaton answered, and I saw Stiles look up at him with wide eyes.

"Grimoire?" he repeated, and Deaton nodded. "As in, witch's spell book?"

I choked.

"Excuse you?" I exclaimed, my head spinning from Stiles to Deaton and back again.

"She's a witch?" Scott asked, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen them.

"No, I am _not_ a witch, that's ridiculous," I scoffed.

"Witch isn't a term your mother was very fond of, nor the rest of your family," Deaton supplied, not really helping the choking. "But, essentially, yes. You're a witch."

"I ain't a witch," I laughed. The idea was more than a little absurd. "I just..." I grappled for any other explanation, and found only one. "I'm just psychic."

Deaton frowned, which just increased the panicking in my chest. "What makes you think you're psychic?"

"She's been seeing things before they happen," Stiles happened, reaching out to touch the book before thinking better of it and putting his hands in his pockets. "Isn't that a normal part of being a witch?"

"I ain't a witch!"

"It's not normal, no," Deaton murmured, narrowing his eyes at me. "But it's also not unheard of. Some witches develop powers outside of their usual realm. I know of one witch in New Orleans who has the uncanny ability to sense when a woman is pregnant, so the power of foresight isn't completely implausible."

"I ain't a witch," I whined quietly, suddenly realising I wasn't really trying to convince them anymore. I was having a hard time convincing myself. Everything started making a little more sense when you brought the possibility of witches into the picture. Which was just ridiculous.

"You are, Amber. You come from a very old, and very powerful, line of witches. But like I said," Deaton continued, waving a hand. "Your family never liked the term 'witch'; too many negative connotations, too unsafe a name to give yourself. So they started calling themselves something different. They adhered to a name that many people, the humans and the supernatural alike, responded to and respected."

"What name was that?" Scott asked, while I continued to gape like a fish trying to string a sentence together.

"They called themselves Emissaries."

* * *

"Are you concentrating?"

"I'm trying to," Stiles growled back at me, looking up from the line of ash he was leaving behind him. "But it's kind of hard to do so when you're muttering to yourself."

"Dr Deaton said-"

"I know what _Dr Deaton_ said," Stiles snapped at me. "He also said that you're not allowed to do any magic."

I looked down at the grimoire in my hands as I followed Stiles on his slow tour around the large warehouse. I could hear the thumping of the music from out here, but as exited as I had been to do something so normal and so fun, by the time I left the house, the grimoire I had put in the trunk and its contents had all of my attention. A rave was nothing compared to a spell book, even if I was still slightly in denial.

"I ain't _doing_ any magic," I argued, shrugging. "I'm just reading up on it. This book is full of spells and enchantments; it's amazing. And it says loads about Emissaries, about my bloodline. I think my mom even has a few entries in here too. It definitely looks like her writing."

"Yeah, that's brilliant for you," Stiles huffed. "Could you please help me?"

"No," I said, shaking my head and turning back to the book. "Dr Deaton said if I would do it, it would involve magic. And I'm not allowed to do magic." I shrugged. "You're just using the force of will, and the force of belief in yourself."

"This I guess this would be a lot easier if I _had_ any belief in myself," I just about heard Stiles mutter to himself. I frowned.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, closing the book and bringing it up to my chest, so I wouldn't be tempted to turn back to it mid-conversation."You ain't usually this outwardly self-deprecating."

I heard Stiles scoff quietly, saw him shake his head. "You know all about disappointed dads, right?"

I flinched. "Ouch, Stilinski. I thought we gotten past all the personal low-blows."

"No, I didn't..." He sighed, stood up to run a hand down his face and look at me. "I didn't mean it like that, I... My dad is taking a leave of absence."

I shook my head slowly, confused. "Okay... is that a terribly bad thing?"

"They made him take a leave of absence," Stiles explained, and I finally got it. "Apparently, stealing police property and getting a restraining order filed against me isn't fitting behaviour for the son of the Sheriff."

"It's not like you did all that for a joke, Stiles," I tried, watching him shake his head and go back to his mission. "You did it to try and save lives."

"Yeah, but my dad doesn't know that, and neither does the rest of the department," Stiles sighed, sounding totally put out. "As far as their concerned, I'm just a delinquent with authority issues." He shook his head agin, before standing up and stomping his foot. "God, he wasn't even mad at me. He just looked so... so tired. I did that, I made him look like that."

I stared at him for a long while, not sure what to say to make him feel better. "You know, I was having a conversation kind of similar to this one earlier on today, with this guy I know." Stiles stopped and stood up straight, sighing heavily and lifting an eyebrow like he was telling me to get on with it. "He's a little weird, wears too much plaid and is far too snide to have many _normal_ conversations with, but in this particular instance, he was actually making some sense. He said some rather profound things."

He huffed out a laugh when he finally caught on, and shrugged, flinging his arms wide. "And what profound things did he say, exactly?"

"He said that it sucks, that he gets it, because he's, like, the son of the Sheriff, or something, I don't know." Stiles laughed again, dropping his head to shake it. "And he doesn't want to disappoint his dad, but people are dying, and we need to do everything we can to save them."

"So what?" Stiles asked, his eyes widening just slightly to show me he was playing along. "We just keep letting down our parents and disappointing them in the hopes we might get a win and save someone's life?"

"That's exactly what we do," I nodded, smiling. "Because saving someone's life is more important than saving someone from disappointment." Stiles pursed his lips and nodded. "It sucks right now, but he's your dad, Stiles, and he'll still be there. He's always gonna be there."

"And if you're wrong?" Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow at me. "Are you gonna eat your jacket?"

"Now why on earth would anyone ever agree to do something _that_ stupid?" I asked him, and he laughed. "Every mouthful would be cotton, and the odd bite of plastic. No one wins you eat garments, Stiles." Stiles nodded as he grinned, agreeing, but the surprisingly happy moment was cut off when I heard distinct bangs in the not-so-distant distance. We both spun around to the noise, staring at the direction it had come from. "Okay, was that gunfire?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, grabbing a tight hold of the bag in his hand and resuming the walk around the building. "I'm gonna go with the worst _possible_ scenario and assume it's the Argents."

"You know it's been a bad day when the 'worst possible scenario' is your friend's family showing up uninvited," I muttered, and Stiles scoffed out his agreement.

We kept walking, quicker now, until eventually, the _second_ worst possible scenario happened.

"No, no, no, no, no, oh God," Stiles whined, watching the last few grains of the mountain ash fall out of the bag and into his hands. We both looked up at the several feet lying between the two ends of the line of ash.

"Maybe you can still make it?" I suggested, and Stiles turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

"A handful of ash is never going to make all that distance, Amber," he said, his frustration seeping into his tone. "This is it, we're screwed. This _whole_ plan falls apart if we can't create the barrier to keep Jackson inside the building, and we just _ran out of the barrier_."

"No, we didn't. What's in your hand isn't the barrier." I argued, me eyes widening as I remembered what Deaton had said earlier that day. _Think of it like gunpowder._ "It's just powder until a spark ignites it."

Stiles nodded, taking a deep breath. "I need to be that spark." I cricked his neck each way, blowing out that big breath and nodding. "Okay, let's do this." He closed his eyes, still nodding to himself. "Just picture it. Just imagine it working, okay?" He took a step, letting the ash slip slowly through his fist. "Just... imagine." He kept moving, one step at a time, breathing slowly. I watched the ash fall to the ground, saw the way it seemed to spread, tendrils of ash coming from either end to meet at Stiles' feet. He kept walking, until the ash finally ran out after just a few feet. As soon as he felt the last of it leave his fingers, he opened his eyes and they fell on me, disappointed. So I nodded at him, gesturing down to the ash at his feet with a small – I will never, _ever_, admit this to _anyone_, but also proud – smile, and he followed my gaze to see the full circle. A complete barrier. He looked up and down the line of ash, looking like he was checking the empty spot hadn't moved, until he realised he's done it. His face lit up as he cried out in victory, pumping his fists into the air and jumping onto the trunk of a car. The alarm immediately started blaring, and he hopped straight back off, holding his hands up and apologising to the inanimate object.

"You actually did it," I murmured, honestly impressed.

"Don't sound so surprised, Wilson," he grinned, shaking his head. "I knew I could do it all along."

"Oh, really?" I asked, my eyebrows raised and my head tilted to the side. "So what was that crisis in the middle all about?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he brushed off, looking in the other direction. He clapped his hands together. "Okay, now that that job is over with, we should go and check on the other part of the plan."

"The 'knocking out Jackson' part of the plan," I said, eyeing the line of ash as Stiles hopped over it. "Can I step over this?"

"Uh..." Stiles said helpfully. "I don't know. Try it."

I groaned a little. "I don't want to."

"Okay, let's try this again," Stiles tried, shrugging at me. "Either you try to step over the mountain ash line, or I push you over it. It's your call."

I groaned again, giving Stiles the grimoire, before bracing myself and taking a quick step over the line. When I opened my eyes again, Stiles was shaking his head at me. "You're so dramatic."

"Hey," I whined, following after Stiles as he pulled open the door and marched into the warehouse, where the music got overwhelmingly louder. "If Deaton's right, then I'm a supernatural being. The mountain ash keeps out supernatural beings, ergo, stepping over a supernatural barrier may have hurt. Does something smell weird to you in here?" I asked Stiles, who turned to frown at me and my wrinkled nose.

"You mean other than the abandoned, slightly decrepit warehouse and the many, _many_ sweaty teenagers in it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Stiles, other than that."

"No, I don't smell anything," Stiles shrugged, turning to carry on trying to make his way past the large group of teenagers dancing in the middle of the room. "Maybe it's your witchy senses trying to tell you something." he threw over his shoulder.

"That's not very comforting."

We finally took a turn off the main room down a corridor, and Stiles stopped at a particular door, glancing back at me before shoving it open.

"Whoa, no, no, just us!" he cried, jumping back as soon as he opened the door. "It's just us, don't freak." I pushed past him into the small room, standing in front of Jackson as he sat in a chair, slumped forward uncomfortably. "He okay?" Stiles asked Isaac and Erica.

"Well," Isaac said behind me, stepping forward until he was directly in front of Jackson and throwing down his hand, bringing out his claws. "Let's find out."

I took a step back, away from my best friend turning into a wolf toy, feeling Stiles' arm brush against mine and being weirdly comforted by it. Isaac moved to swipe his arm, his claws, across Jackson's form, when an unconscious hand came up to grip and Isaac's wrist, twisting it as Isaac fell to the floor in pain. He managed to pry it free, and Jackson's hand slumped back down into his lap.

"Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay?" Stiles suggested, panicked , looking from Isaac to Erica. Everyone nodded.

"I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out," Isaac whined, fingering his wrist gently and glaring at Jackson.

"Yeah, well," Stiles sighed, handing my book back to me and stepping forward. "Apparently this is all we're going to get. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight."

And then, the creepiest thing happened.

"I'm here," an unconscious Jackson said, in a voice that was so similar to Jackson's, yet sounding so terrifyingly different. His eyes were open now, and staring straight at us, but they were totally blank. Almost as though it was someone else looking through them. "I'm right here with you."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, that was a reference to The Vampire Diaries/The Originals. Keep an eye out for more. They're definitely coming.**

**Also, sorry for any misspellings, bad grammar, etc. I'm applying to go to University again, so I'm a bit distracted all of the time, but I really wanted to get this chapter up, so I didn't proofread much.**

**Thanks so much for the continued support guys, and I'll see you next time.**

**P.S., I know it was supposed to be the class of 2006, but I rearranged the date to fit the timeline, with seasons 1-3b taking place in 2014, so that all the birthdays fit, too.**


	9. What a Way to Go

**A/N: Sorry I didn't upload this yesterday, I just totally forgot. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to check out my Polyvore account for outfits and whatever.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

That strange smell was getting stronger, and it was starting to burn.

Jackson had been quiet for some time now, but his eyes were still staring at us blankly, and I _swear_ he was smirking. Stiles took a few more steps forward.

"Don't get too close," I blurted out, and Stiles jumped at the unexpected sound. He looked over his shoulder at me to narrow his eyes at me and shake his head slowly, telling me that _obviously _he wasn't going to get too close, he wasn't _stupid_. I tipped my head in apology, and he crouched down, staring up at Jackson.

"Jackson, is that you?" Stiles asked softly.

"Us," Jackson responded, in the same terrifying, monstrous voice as before. "We're all here."

"Are you the one killing people?"

"We are the ones killing murderers."

Stiles nodded to himself. "So all the people you've killed so far..."

"Deserved it," Jackson finished, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Then the shiver in my spine turned into a burn in the back of my throat. I cleared it, trying to ease the pain, but it just kept getting worse.

"See, we got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers," Stiles said, shrugging just slightly.

"Anything can break if enough pressure's applied."

"All right, so the people you're killing are all murderers then?"

"All," Jackson responded. The burn finally broke me and I coughed, trying to keep it quiet, but Stiles still turned to me with a pointed glare. I shrugged. "Each. Every one."

"Well, Stiles continued, turning back to Jackson. "Who did they murder?"

I coughed again, but it turned into more of a choking sound when Jackson answered Stiles' question. "Me."

"Wait, what?" Stiles asked, obviously as surprised as the rest of us. "What do you mean?"

"They murdered me," Jackson said, his voice angry and his eyes yellowing, until they stood bright and horrifying against the dankness of the room. "They murdered me."

I stepped forward, resting a hand on Stiles' shoulder and grabbing at the jacket there, pulling. "Maybe you should step back now."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," he agreed, getting to his feet and moving backwards until he stood beside Isaac and I. I looked over at Erica, followed her trained gaze and saw Jackson's clawed hand slowly rising, his arm growing scaly and green. "More ketamine," he suggested, waving a hand in Isaac's general direction. "The man needs ketamine, come on."

Isaac held up a small bottle, shaking it in his face. That didn't look good. "We don't have any more."

"You used the whole bottle?!" Stiles exclaimed, and Erica grabbed at my wrist, drawing my attention to the sight of Jackson standing out of his chair that terrified her so much. Suddenly, his bared his teeth, his very many, very sharp teeth, and Erica and I flinched backwards.

"I think now would be a good time to leave," I said, nodding to myself and seeing Erica do the same out of the corner of my eye. As soon as Stiles and Isaac saw it too, they were pushing us out of the door and slamming it shut behind us.

"Okay," Stiles said, looking around him. "Find something to move in front of the door." We all turned, searching, until a barricade no longer seemed necessary when Jackson burst through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in his wake. "Or... okay. This is bad."

The coughing started back up then, and I had to rest up against the wall to keep from falling down. Stiles stopped in front of me with a frown.

"What's the matter with you? Why do you keep coughing?"

"It's that smell," I managed to croak out, my eyes starting to water. "It's burning my throat."

"Okay," Stiles nodded, grabbing my arm and pulling it over his shoulders, keeping me up. "Let's get you back outside before you choke to death." I nodded, letting him pull me back out into the crowd of people and through it, heading back for the parking lot. I kept coughing, barely able to draw in a breath in between each one, and starting to feel faint. By the time we finally got outside people were starting to leave, and the parking lot was slowly emptying.

Stiles dropped my arm next to his Jeep, and I would've hit the ground hard if someone hadn't caught me inches from the concrete and place me down much more gently.

"Derek," Stiles greeted. I would've been polite and said hello, had I not been coughing up my oesophagus. "Great timing. Slight problem, we kind of lost Jackson inside, but it's..." he trailed off, and I looked up to see Isaac crouched at the line of ash, he and Erica unable to pass through it. "Oh my God, it's working. Oh, this is... Amber, it's working," Stiles exclaimed, grinning. "I did something!" I gave him a thumbs up and a smile, before I realised I couldn't breathe. Like, at all. I think Derek noticed it first, if his alarmed look in my direction was anything to go by.

"Why aren't you breathing?" he asked me, as if he actually expected me to respond. I would if I _could_, Derek. He turned to Stiles, pointing a finger at me. "Why isn't she breathing?"

Stiles dropped down in front of me, gaping and shaking his head as I tried my very hardest to draw in a breath. "I don't know," he answered, the tone of his voice telling me he was panicked. Which just made me panic.

"What is that?" I heard Derek ask, and Stiles and I both turned to look at where Derek was pointing. Erica looked down at the large book in her hands, holding it out for Derek to see.

"She dropped it, when the coughing got really bad" she explained, looking at me. "I thought you might need it."

"It's her family's grimoire," Stiles explained, one of his hands now on my shoulder. The comforting gesture would've been nice if I weren't convinced I was about to die.

"Grimoire?" Derek repeated, surprised. "She's a witch?"

"Deaton says they prefer the term 'emissary', but yeah," Stiles said, frowning at me anxiously. I somehow managed to cough through the inability to breathe, and this time I tasted the blood in my mouth. My head fell back against the Jeep and I closed my eyes. This was it. I couldn't breathe and I didn't have a clue why. I was gonna die. The last conversation I had with my Daddy was an argument, and now I was gonna die. In a parking lot. With Stilinski and a few werewolves at my side.

What a way to go.

"She's an emissary?" I heard Derek ask, followed by a growl much closer to me.

"Yes, Derek," Stiles bit out. "Is that at all helpful in stopping her from _dying_ right now?"

"It might be," Derek muttered, and I sucked in another futile breath before I broke down into another coughing fit. I pulled away the hand from my mouth, too out of it to keep my eyes open, but I felt someone, Stiles, probably, grab my hand and pull it away from me with a soft 'oh god'.

"Derek, do something!" I heard Stiles shout, and I screwed my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain in my head.

"It's not her that can't breathe," Derek murmured, and _god_, my head hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

"Are you seeing something I don't, here?" Stiles asked bitterly, and Derek growled. I wonder if that's a common thing for werewolves to do. Scott doesn't seem to do it that much, but Derek does. Scott.

"Think about it, Stiles," he barked. "This has happened before, hasn't it? Things happening to her that have no physical explanation. Because it's not her, not really. She's feeling what someone else is feeling, because she's an Emissary, a powerful one, because she's linked to them. She's linked to her _pack_." Pack. "Amber, let it in," Derek ordered. "Let it in!" I barely heard it, the ringing in my ears too loud and my mind too foggy for me to have picked it out and made sense of it, but, for some reason, it seemed to resonate with some tiny part of my mind that was still wide awake.

I felt something rip out of me then, rip out of my throat, and for a second, I thought I had finally coughed it up. That was until I heard I was screaming, unlike any other scream I had heard come from me. It was animalistic, like the ones I had heard in my head. Only, this time, it was so very real.

I think that's about the time I finally blacked out.

* * *

When my eyes finally managed to flutter open, the first thing I saw was the bright light shining above me. When a head blocked it out I had a flashback to the night of the winter formal, and I panicked.

"You're okay," the soft voice soothed, and I blinked a few times until Deaton's smiling face came into focus. "Which is lucky for both of us, because your mother would kill me from beyond the grave if anything happened to you." I huffed a laugh, and closed my eyes for a brief moment to enjoy the feeling of air filling my lungs.

"Scott..."

"Is fine too," Deaton assured me, and I nodded.

"Allison's mom tried to kill him," Stiles supplied, suddenly appearing on the other side of the table I was lying on, his arms over his chest. "She tried to poison him with a vaporiser and a vial of wolfsbane. He couldn't breathe."

"What I don't get," I said, struggling to sit up and having Deaton and Stiles grab an arm each to help me. "Is why this keeps happening."

"As I said earlier on today, some witches develop powers outside of the norm. You seem to have developed the power of foresight. That's why you sensed the Sheriff getting his by a car, why you sensed Lydia out on the lacrosse field. You sensed it before it happened."

"But tonight was different," I argued, shaking my head. "It wasn't like I just sensed it, it was like it was actually happening to me. I thought I was gonna die. It's never felt like that before."

"That's because what happened tonight wasn't your foresight at play," Deaton shrugged.

"You're an Emissary," I heard Derek answer, and I looked over to see him stood next to Scott, helping him sit up too. "You're linked to your pack."

"You're linked to your _alpha_," Deaton said, casting a pointed look Scott's way. I stared at him for a second, almost wary of my so-called 'alpha'. He stared back, his mouth open in the same surprise I was feeling, until he shrugged, and sent me an unsure smile. Ah, I could do worse.

"So what now?" I asked Deaton, shrugging. "Every time Scott almost dies, I almost die? What happens if he _actually _dies?"

Deaton tipped his head. "You'll learn how to control it, eventually. How to feel it, but not let it affect you the way it did tonight. But tonight, for the first time, you let your magic in, you believed in yourself. Do you remember what I said to Stiles this afternoon, about believing?" I nodded. Something about a golf ball, I think. Give me a break, my mind was still pretty fuzzy. "Your magic has been waiting inside of you, dormant, since you were born, just waiting for that little spark to ignite it. It's been trying to catch alight since you started realising how true all of this was, and today, opening that box, finding your grimoire, realising your potential, it finally did. You gave it that spark." Deaton smiled at me, a proud little smile that managed to pry one out of me too. "It burns brighter now, stronger. That's why the connection between you and Scott was so strong tonight."

"So, once I learn how to control it, it won't be that strong?"

"Not unless you allow it to be," Deaton promised. "Although, your link with Scott will always be stronger than with anyone else in your pack; it always has been with alphas."

"But Scott's not even a real alpha," I complained. I tipped my head in his direction apologetically. "Sorry, Scott, but you're an alpha to a bunch of humans."

Scott tipped his head back at me. "You're not human," he countered, and I pursed my lips, nodding.

"Touche."

"Okay, so here's something I can't make sense of," Stiles said, his hands against the edge of the metal table. He looked over at Derek, frowning. "You shoved some of that paralytic kanima toxin into her mouth, and it didn't paralyse her."

Derek shook his head. "No. She started throwing up, instead."

"Yeah, thanks for that, by the way," I muttered, throwing a glare in Derek's direction. "I _continued_ throwing up for the next twenty-four hours."

"Why didn't it paralyse her?" Stiles cut in before the conversation could grow too heated. "It paralysed everyone else, _including_ Jackson."

"Inherently, witches are servants of nature," Deaton began to explain, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the table so he could look between the four of us. "It's their duty to keep the balance, between the natural and the supernatural. Right now, Jackson isn't either, he's..."

"An abomination," I muttered, raising my eyebrows at Stiles.

"Exactly," Deaton agreed. "He's unnatural, whereas you are so fundamentally natural that, according to Derek, you smell like the earth." Everyone turned to look at Derek at that comment.

"Dude," Scott disapproved, shaking his head. "That's just _weird_."

"I don't determine how she smells, Scott," Derek defended, huffing. "I just smell it."

"Yeah, it's the smelling part that makes it weird," Stiles argued.

"My point," Deaton said, drawing the attention back to his explanation. "You are nature personified, and Jackson is an abomination of nature. When something so unnatural as the toxins of a kanima enters your body, it tries to fight it, just like it would any other infection or disease. But your body doesn't have a clue what it's fighting, so it does the only other thing it can think to do; it purges the infection from your body."

"So I was throwing up to try and get rid of the toxins in my system," I summarised. "So why did it stop only after I drank this tea my mom used to use?" Deaton lifted an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to answer the question myself. "I drank a magic potion, didn't I?" I huffed. Allison was right.

"Not a potion so much, but a mix of healing herbs resulting in a tea with just enough magic to help," Deaton smiled, nodding. "I'm surprised you still have any of your mother's herbs."

I shrugged. "We ran out ages ago, but we just order them from the same place she did. I wouldn't think a store that small would do home deliveries, but the lady still sends them out to us whenever we ask."

"That's because she knows you're a Hayward witch," Deaton supplied. "I told you, your family is very well respected among the supernatural community."

"Well," Stiles said, suddenly more chipper than I'd seen him since I'd woken up. "At least we know you're respected in _one_ community."

I mean, sure, I was still feeling pretty week, but I certainly felt strong enough to punch him in the stomach.

* * *

"So..." Stiles drew out, and I peeked one eye open to see him sat across from me, looking around Deaton's office nervously. "It's Lydia's birthday this week, right?"

I snorted. "You say that like you don't know _exactly_ when her birthday is and the exact time she was born, and haven't already bought her a gift." I closed my eye again, only needing to hear the frustrated huff to know I was right.

"I don't know the _exact _time," he muttered. He was silent for a second, before I heard the persistent tapping of his fingers against Deaton's desk.

"Stiles," I whined, opening both my eyes and slumping. "I'm trying to meditate here, so could you just say whatever it is you're obviously dying to say so I can get back to trying to light this damn candle?" I asked, gesturing to the _still_ unlit candle on the desk between us. We'd been here for _hours_.

"Am I invited to her birthday party?" he finally got out, swinging his arms wide on either side of him. "I know she throws one every year, and I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't send me one, but I was kind of hoping... maybe it got lost in the mail?" he finished hopefully, wincing slightly.

"It didn't get lost in the mail," I answered, and I saw his shoulders slump. "But that's only because she didn't send out invites this year."

"What?" Stiles asked, as surprised as I was when she'd told me that morning. "Why not?"

"Well, she said every knows it's happening, because it's the biggest party of the year," I shrugged, pursing my lips. "But, personally, I think she's scared no one's gonna show up."

"Why would no one show up? It's Lydia Martin."

"Yeah, Lydia Martin, who ran around the woods naked for a couple of days, writes backward on the board, and screams and cries a lot." I shrugged again, thinking about how terrible life had been for her lately. Maybe things would start looking up soon. "People are shallow, and people think she's crazy. She's no longer a hot commodity."

"And if no one shows up after she sends out invites, it means no one wanted to come," Stiles figured, nodding sadly.

"Whereas if no invites were sent out in the first place, maybe people _totally_ forgot her birthday was _this _week, and they would've made it if she'd just sent out those invites."

We both sat in silence for a while, too deep in depressing thoughts to strike up any form of conversation. That was until...

"Why won't this damn candle light?!"

"Maybe you're thinking about it too much," Stiles suggested, shrugging.

"Oh, I'm thinking about it too much," I repeated, nodding sarcastically. "I mean, I'm supposed to _envision_ the candle lighting in my mind's eye, supposed to put _every ounce_ of my concentration into lighting it with my mind, but sure, maybe I'm _thinking about it too much_."

"Aaand we're back to the sarcastic bitch I know you so well to be," Stiles muttered, dropping his head back and groaning. "Why do I offer my time and help to you when I _know_ it's just gonna get thrown back in my face?"

"Because you like to see me suffer," I bit out, growling. "Can't I just use a match and _tell_ Deaton I did it with my mind?"

"No, that's called cheating," Stiles said, talking to me like I was four years old. "And cheating is usually considered a bad thing to do. Cheaters never prosper."

"Neither do sarcastic little shits who delight in other people's misery," I smiled, and Stiles just rolled his eyes and sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Amber, c'mon, you know you can do it," he tried, and I groaned. "That's the whole point of the spark; you have to believe you can do it."

"Well, I've been at this for hours, and I have nothing to show for it, so maybe I can't do it. Maybe that's the problem."

"The problem is your attitude," Stiles corrected me, raising his eyebrows pointedly for a second. "You have woken up all of the magic inside of you, and last night, it almost killed you. If you don't learn to control this, next time it won't be an _almost_. You'll be dead, and there's nothing any of us can do about it except bury you."

"Jeez, Stiles," I groaned, wincing at the sharp turn the conversation had taken. "Way to make things depressing."

"I'm just trying to make a point, Amber. I think it's safe to say that I like you the least amount, in comparison to how the rest of our 'pack' feel about you, and I was actually kind of terrified last night."

"Aww," I smiled, tipping my head to the side.

"Amber, this isn't funny," Stiles argued, standing up suddenly and slamming his palms down, leaning forward over the desk. "You almost _died_ because your magic took over, and you couldn't control it. What would we have done if it had actually killed you, huh? How do you think we would have told your dad, your brother, that someone else they love is dead? That you died because the part of you that is most like your mom was too much for you, and it got you killed? That it probably got her killed too, in one way or another? Do you really want us to have to do that? Do you really want to have to make them bury someone else with questions that they will probably never have answered? Because that's what's going to happen if you can't learn to control this. Everything that you went through when you lost your mom, you're gonna put them through it all over- ow!"

Stiles quickly picked his hand up from the desk, cradling it against his chest as he watched the candle flame die down from the tall burst of heat it had been just seconds ago into a much more stable, _normal_ flame. I was too busy glaring at Stiles to pay much attention.

"You burnt me," he muttered, sounding more impressed than angry as he inspected the minimal damage.

"You're such a dick," I growled at him, shaking my head and hoping candle burns scarred. Stiles looked up just long enough to grin at me.

"It worked, didn't it?"

* * *

"What the hell is an Emissary?" Josh asked as we rode the escalator up to the second floor of the mall that Monday.

"It's... it's like a... an advocate of the werewolves, I guess. We bridge the gap between the werewolves and the humans." I tipped my head, pouting slightly. "But, technically, anyone could do that. Our family, mom's family, just comes from a very old Emissary bloodline. I think they started calling themselves that because, uh, what they usually referred to themselves as were kind of shunned centuries ago. And, kind of... burnt at the stake."

Josh frowned at me for a split second as we stepped off the escalator, before his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.

"You're a witch?!"

"Would you shut up?" I glared at him, shaking my head. "Yes, okay, I'm a witch. But our family has always played the role of Emissary."

"Does that mean I'm a witch?"

I shook my head. "No, you got Daddy's perfectly human genes. In our family, it's just the females. Something about being smarter, better looking, better in every way, really."

Josh narrowed his eyes at me. "Do you actually think you're funny?"

"He said women are just inherently more in-tune with nature," I explained, smiling. "Something about the female form, I don't know."

"So, are all Emissaries witches?" Josh asked.

"No, a lot of them are humans, just incredibly wise ones. I think they come in bloodlines too. It would make sense. Uncle Drew dabbles, apparently."

"Okay, one supernatural family member at a time. Are all witches Emissaries?"

"Again, no," I answered shaking my head and wandering over to a nearby rack of dresses. Lydia would never forgive me if I turned up at her birthday party with a dress I already owned. "Plenty of them identify as just witches, and I think there are a few places, or a few covens, whatever, where the witches _despise_ the werewolves."

"And you don't?" Josh inquired, stopping beside me. "You don't despise werewolves, even after what happened to Mom?"

I sighed, bit my lip. "They ain't all the same, Josh. Some of them have so much more control, some of them don't want to kill. Look at Scott."

"Even Scott had trouble in the beginning," Josh pointed out. "He tried to kill his best friend, remember? And his then ex-girlfriend."

"But he learnt how to control it, because he didn't want to hurt anybody," I argued. "I get why you feel like this, Josh, I do. I was there too only a few weeks ago, but I trust Scott."

Josh nodded slowly. "Then so do I," he decided, before cringing just a little. "Very reluctantly." I smiled.

"Now, enough with the werewolf chatter; you need to find Lydia a birthday present." I scoffed, thinking back to our conversation earlier this morning. "I can't believe you thought you could turn up to her birthday party without a birthday _present_."

"Then I guess it's a good job I have you to teach the ways of birthday etiquette, ain't it?" Josh smiled at me before strolling away, browsing the shelves and racks for anything even remotely passable as a birthday present, I was sure, just as my phone began ringing in my bag. I pulled it out, noting Allison's name on the screen and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Ally," I smiled, even though she couldn't see it.

"I think Matt's stalking me," she responded instead of returning the greeting. My eyes widened.

"What, are you serious?" I asked, before I realised I was missing some vital information "Wait, no, who's Matt?"

"Matt, the guy I went to the rave with," Allison explained, and I hummed as I still had trouble placing the name. "The guy you were really rude to the day of Kate's funeral?"

"I am rude to a _lot_ of people, Allison."

"You call him, like, creepy guy... camera guy... something like that."

"Wait, creepy camera guy? The guy that was in detention with y'all the other day?"

"That's the one. He has pictures of me on his camera. Pictures of me in my _room_."

"Are you telling me that crazy-ass boy scaled your house to take pictures of you in the privacy of your own bedroom?"

"It definitely looks like it, yeah," Allison confirmed, and I heard a loud sigh. "Are you coming to Lydia's birthday party this week?" she said, completely changing the subject.

"I wouldn't miss it," I said, pulling a dress from the rack and eyeing it up. "I _couldn't _miss it, Lydia would kill me. Are you?"

"Yeah, I figured it was the most normal thing to do right now. I think she needs normal."

"And I think you'd be right on that," I agreed. "She hasn't even sent out invites this year."

"I noticed. I wasn't even sure she would throwing one, after everything that's happened."

"Half of the things that's happened to her I think she thinks she hallucinated or something," I thought aloud. "Most of it wouldn't even make sense to her."

"She probably thinks she's going crazy," Allison murmured, more to herself than to me, I think. "Speaking of, how's your crazy?"

I swallowed. "Less crazy now, actually. I, uh, went to see Dr Deaton, Scott's boss."

"The veterinarian?" Allison asked, sounding highly confused.

"Yup," I nodded. "He's may be a veterinarian, but he's much more knowledgeable of the supernatural than he lets on."

Allison made a sound of realisation. "Which is how he knew your mom, and why he was so creepy that day you went to see him with your cat."

"Exactly," I said. "The visit was incredibly informative, and uh... turns out, I'm an Emissary."

Allison was quiet for a second, before... "What the hell is an Emissary?"

* * *

"Urgh, they are just _so cute_," I squeaked as Danny and I watched Josh laugh with Melanie on the other side of the Martin pool.

"And you're so _weird_," Danny decided, turning to me. "Stop spying on your little brother when he's getting his flirt on. I'm going to get us some drinks, okay?" I nodded, smiling one last time at seeing my brother so happy, even in the midst of everything that he now knew was happening, before spinning around and forcing myself to concentrate on something else. Which just so happened to be the giant gift Stiles was struggling to get through the front door.

"What the hell is that?" I asked him, slowly wandering over.

"It's Lydia's birthday present," he managed to grunt out while trying to shove the present through the too-narrow doorway.

"Do you need some help with that?" I offered, and he looked at me over the present with a pout and a small nod. I took a few more steps forward, trying to stop him from continuously ramming the box into the doorframe. "It ain't getting any smaller, Stiles. You need to tilt- oh my-"

"It has to get through eventually," Stiles groaned, shoving the box again. He stepped back, like he was taking a run-up, and I took the few seconds before he launched at the door again to tip the box the other way, so it was on its side, and then I stepped to the side and out of the way. Stiles threw himself, and the gift, at the door again, but this time the present fit through the doorway perfectly, and they both ended up on the floor in the parlour, Stiles breathing heavily after all his effort. He fell onto his back and glared at me. "_That_ was your idea of helping?"

"Hey, if it weren't for me, you'd still be stuck outside," I shrugged. "She wants all the presents on the dining table. Let's hope all the interior doorways are wider than that one, huh?" Stiles just groaned.

"Hey Amber," I heard Scott greet from the doorway, he then looked down and saw his best friend still sprawled on the floor. "Hey, Stiles..."

"Hey, Scotty," Stiles waved back, grinning. "Care to help me up?" Scott smiled, holding out a hand to haul Stiles to his feet, and then they both turned to me.

"Have you seen Jackson anywhere?" Scott asked me, and I shook my head. "Allison?"

"I think she's here somewhere," I tried, shrugging. "Why?"

"We found out how all the murders are connected," Stiles informed me, picking up the present and heading towards the dining room.

"I thought we already knew that; they were all in Harris' class."

"Yeah, everyone except for My Lahey and Kara, the concert promoter," Stiles threw over his shoulder, laying the gift down next to all the others, his easily the largest, and turning back to Scott and I. "Turns out, Lahey was the coach of the 2008 swim team. And all the other people who were murdered were on that particular swim team."

"So it's... that's it. The person controlling the kanima... hates the swim team?" I guessed.

"The 2008 swim team, yeah," Scott agreed. We wandered out into the backyard, and across the pool I could see Danny with Josh and Melanie. But, aside from that, the place was deserted.

"Jackson's not here," Allison said, walking up the few stone steps to join us on the porch.

"Yeah, nobody's here." Stiles muttered, looking around the empty yard.

"Maybe it's just early," Scott suggested, shrugging.

"Or maybe nobody's coming because Lydia has turned into the town whack job," Stiles commented with a shake of his head.

"Well, we have to do something," Allison said, folding her arms over her chest. "We've completely ignored her for the past two weeks."

Scott scoffed. "She's completely ignored Stiles for the past ten years."

"I prefer to think of it as me not having been on her radar," Stiles said, gesturing at me. I smiled, finally having gotten my point across. "Yet."

"We don't owe her a party," Scott argued.

"What about the chance to get back to normal?" Allison said, looking at me. "She needs normal."

"Normal?" Scott asked.

"She wouldn't be the town whack job if it wasn't for us." Allison turned to me, her eyebrows raised.

"She's right," I shrugged. "We brought werewolves into her life, and all her problems stem from what happened on the lacrosse field. Besides, don't we all deserve a night of normal? Just one night?"

Allison nodded, turning back to Scott and pleading with him without uttering a single word. He broke.

"I guess I could use my co-captain status to get the lacrosse team here," he sighed, and Allison and I both turned to each other with big smiles.

"I can call some friends, get them to bring friends too," I offered, pursing my lips. "Maybe I can convince Brett to come."

Allison snorted. "You just want Brett to come so he can see you in that dress," Allison grinned, totally blowing my cover. "Your cleavage is insane right now."

"Right?" I agreed excitedly. "A dress like this cannot be wasted. It needs to be seen; better yet, it needs to be fully appreciated."

"This conversation took an uncomfortable turn," I heard Stiles mutter, and I turned to him to see both he and Scott wincing and looking anywhere but us. Allison giggled.

"Sorry," I murmured, smiling. "I'll go make some calls."

"I also know some people who can get this thing going," Stiles added, nodding. "Like, _really _going."

Allison narrowed her eyes and frowned at me. "Who?" she asked him.

"I met them the other night," he explained. "Let's just say they know how to party."

So, those people Stiles, the ones that knew how to party? He met them to Jungle. And know how to party, they did.

"Look who I found," Lydia sang as she wandered back from answering the door. I turned around at her voice, and was met with the incredibly pleasant sight of Brett Ryan's face.

"Hi," I greeted, unable to stop the massive smile overtaking my face.

"Hi yourself," he responded, his own smile much smaller, yet it still made my knees weak.

"Here," Lydia said, interrupting all the eye smiling going on between us, handing each of us a glass of the punch she was so excited about. "Drink up, then go and dance."

Brett watched Lydia go with slightly widened eyes, before he smiled at me.

"You know she slightly terrifies me, right?"he admitted, and I giggled.

"She slightly terrifies everybody," I grinned, taking a sip, and I had to admit, Lydia made good punch. _Excellent_ punch, I corrected myself, taking another large swig. I'd been drinking it since I'd arrived, and I was just now starting to feel that buzz. Only, it wasn't... it wasn't right.

"Everything okay?" Brett asked me, stepping closer and ducking his head. "You look a little out of it."

I smiled, shaking my heard to clear it. "No, I'm... I'm fine." I waved a hand, brushing him off, and something over his shoulder caught my eye. It was only a glimpse, just a swing of hair in the crowd of people inside, but it just looked so familiar...

"Good," Brett grinned, and I turned my attention back to that captivating smile. "I wouldn't want to have to cut you off, or anything."

I laughed, ducking my head to hide the smile. "That won't be necessary just yet, I promise." I looked back up, his eyes shining brighter than I'd ever seen them in the string lights above us, and I had this overwhelming suspicion that he was about to kiss me. The thought made me smile, and when I bit my lip to try to tamper down my obvious joy, I saw his eyes flick down to my mouth. _Yeah, he's definitely about to kiss me_. I took a step closer, giving him all the permission he needed, and he smiled at me, ducking his head. Just as he leant in, his lips inches from mine, the light caught something in the corner of my eye, and when I glanced over, I saw that hair again. Suddenly, it was obvious why the hair had seemed so familiar. I'd been brushing the same auburn hair for as long as I could remember, had seen it on my own head every time I saw my reflection. But this hair was longer, curlier, and it framed a different face, one I hadn't seen, save for photos, in almost three years.

Mom's face.

She smiled at me, and it was everything I could do to not run straight to her. But I blinked, and she was gone. I frowned, spinning around and looking for her, until my eyes landed on my dad, sat on one of the deckchairs, staring at me with tears in his eyes.

"Daddy?"

I ran over to him, crouching down until I was at eye level with him, and I lay a hand on his arm. He shook it off.

"Daddy, was is it? What are you doing here? What's wrong? Is it Josh?"

"Josh is fine," he muttered, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. "It's you that's the problem."

I swallowed, my eyes already burning. "Daddy, I-"

"You were supposed to look after us," he accused, his eyes narrowing like he didn't even want to look at me. "Me and Josh, your mom asked you to look after us, and you can't even manage that." I stood up and took a step back, flinching. "She asked you to do one thing for her, Amber, her dying wish, and you let her down. Not only are you a disappointment to me, but you're a disappointment to your dead mother too, how does that feel?" he shouted, suddenly standing up and taking a step towards me. I took in a deep, harsh breath, feeling a tear roll down my face.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say, a sob quickly following the words.

"Well _sorry_ ain't good enough!" He took another step forward, and flinched again, too busy sobbing to move away from him. "_Sorry_ ain't gonna fix our family. _Sorry_ ain't gonna bring your mom back." He stepped closer, until his face was an inch from mine, and all I could do was turn my head and stare at the pool so I didn't have to see the hatred in his eyes. The hatred that was directed at me. "I used to love how similar you and your mom were; the same hair, the same smile, the same terrible taste in movies. But you're not your mom. You're just a fake, a cheap knockoff of the one thing your face always reminds I'll never have again."

"Daddy..."

"You'll never be like your mom, Amber, not really; you're not _good_ enough to be like your mom. So why don't you do everyone a favour, and stop pretending? Just stop pretending and go back to being the selfish, spoilt little _brat _that everyone knows you really are. Don't you think your mother deserves at least that little bit of respect? You couldn't do the one thing she asked of you, so maybe you should stop disappointing her and just _admit it_. You're nothing."

A hand came up to touch my face, and I whimpered and flinched away, but another hand cradled the other side of my face and turned it.

"Amber," I heard a soft voice say, a familiar voice. A voice I thought I'd never hear again. I opened my eyes, and there she was, worry in her grey eyes until until they focused on mine. Then she smiled. "Hey, baby."

I felt my lip tremble, felt the sob in my throat, but I somehow managed to smile back. "Mom?"

"I'm here, baby," she said, running her thumbs against my cheeks. "I've got you."

"What... how? How is this happening?"

Mom's smile grew sad, and I frowned through the tears in my eyes. "It isn't real, Amber. You're hallucinating."

"But I can feel you." I brought my hands to rest on her wrists, felt the weight of her hands on my face. "I can feel you here."

"I know, baby, I know it seems so real. But something is wrong, and you need to find your friends. You need to wake up."

"But... what about you?" I sniffed, and she smiled as she wiped away the tears on my face.

"I have to go," she said, and I could hear her voice shake as she said it.

"I don't want you to go," I cried.

"I don't want me to go either, baby, but that's the way it's got to be. I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes for a second, squeezing her wrists. "It's okay. I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby," Mom said, leaning forward so she could rest her forehead on mine. "Wake up." I nodded, and she pulled away, dropping her hands from my face until we weren't touching anymore. I felt cold. "And, Amber? Be careful," she added, a warning in her voice. "Something's coming."

I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant, what was coming, but a splash caught my attention, and I turned to see someone fall in the pool. By the time I looked back, she was gone.

"Amber!" someone shouted from behind me, and I turned to see Stiles and Scott rushing towards me. "Have you seen Lydia?" Scott asked, his breathing heavy. I shook my head, wiping at the tears still on my face. Now that I was less preoccupied with seeing my dead mother, I realised how embarrassing it was to be crying in front of everyone here.

"Did you see something too?" Stiles asked me, his and Scott's face telling me it was a mutual experience.

I nodded. "My dad, and my mom."

"Are you okay?" Scott said, laying a hand on my arm.

I laughed. "Not really," I admitted, sniffing. "I'll be fine.

"I can't swim!" somebody suddenly yelled, repeating it over and over as everyone turned to the commotion in the pool. His words were cut off when he dropped under the water, until Jackson marched over to the poolside and reached into the water, grabbing the guy's arm and pulling him out. Jackson hauled him up onto his feet, and I took a step forward to make sure the guy was okay, when Jackson took a step between the two of us and glared at me. The guy turned around, looking at me over Jackson's shoulder, looking at everyone that had just stood there as he struggled. It was Matt.

"What are you looking at?" he asked the group aggressively, giving everyone a scowl before he stepped forward, towards the house. Towards us. He stepped closer, shouldering his way between us with rage in his eyes, and left me with a terribly cold chill as he stalked through the house and out the front door.

"It's him, isn't it?" I murmured, knowing I wouldn't need to speak any louder for the two boys to hear it. "He's the one controlling the kanima."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you to talk to your dad?" I asked Stiles for, like, the thirteenth time.

"I'm sure," Stiles answered, nodding as he pulled into my drive. "Scott and I can handle this, you stay home, get some rest, and let us know if you hear from Lydia."

"You know those hallucinations gave us _all_ a shock, right? Yourself included. I know I ain't the only one who's shaken up by this."

"You're right, we all had a pretty terrible night," Stiles admitted, before he held up a finger in argument. "However, you _did_ get the double-whammy tonight. Two parents in one go, eesh."

"It wasn't that bad," I argued, pouting. "At least my mom wasn't screaming at me for being a disappointment too." Stiles snorted. "She said something weird though."

He stopped the car in front of the house and turned to me in his seat. "You mean, more weird than the rest of the hallucination?"

"She told me to wake up," I told Stiles, biting my lip. "She was telling me to snap out of it. Why would a hallucination want me to stop hallucinating?"

"Maybe that part wasn't a hallucination," Stiles suggested, shrugging. "Maybe it was your subconscious, or something. Or maybe it's a witch thing."

"She said something else, too. _Something's coming_."

"That was it?" Stiles asked. "Just, _something's coming_? No details?"

"No, it was just that," I said quietly, biting my lip again. "She was warning me of something."

Stiles was quiet for a second, before he leaned forward, towards me. "Amber, you know she wasn't real, right?"

"I ain't stupid, Stiles," I smiled, clearing my throat. "It just _felt_ so real, like she was really there. I know... I know she wasn't, it's just screwing with my head. Maybe... Maybe it was my subconscious. Maybe some witchy part of my brain knows something I don't, and it's trying to warn me that something bad is going to happen."

"Well, if you happen to have another conversation with that witchy part of your brain, can you ask what this terrible thing is, and _when_ this terrible thing is scheduled for?"

"I can try," I laughed, smiling at Stiles as I opened the heavy door. "Thanks for the ride home, Stilinski. Call me if anything happens."

"You'll be the first," Stiles answered, before frowning as though he was thinking about it. "Well, maybe not the _first_, but you get the idea."

I rolled my eyes. "Night, Stiles." Slamming the door, I sent him a wave through the window and jumped up the porch steps, unlocking the door and seeing Stiles off before I walked though and closed it behind me. I only made it as far as the first step of the stairs when I stopped, looking up to see Daddy stood on the small balcony where the stairs formed a U shape.

"I wasn't expecting you home tonight," he said, uttering the first words he'd said to me since our argument over a week ago. He'd been avoiding me the entire time. It sucked. "I thought you were staying at Lydia's."

"I was supposed to," I nodded, slowly walking up the stairs. "But I didn't have the best night, and I wanted to come home." As soon as I said it, I winced. Me not being home enough was what had caused that argument in the first place, and I was far too tired to have it out with Daddy again right now. Fortunately for me, he seemed to let it go.

"Josh said the police broke up the party," he said, and I nodded as I hit the same level he was on. It was ridiculous how much I missed being just close to him, let alone having a semi-normal conversation with him. "You look tired."

I smiled. "Long night."

"Go to bed," he ordered softly, pushing me gently towards the rest of the stairs. I stepped up a few of them, before stopping, spinning around to face him again, ready to apologise, or explain, or beg for forgiveness. But I looked at his face and didn't have a clue what to say. He smiled. "It's okay," he promised, like he knew what I was trying to say before I did. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

I smiled back at him, and nodded. It sounded promising. Finally, _finally_, things were starting to look up.

* * *

I was stood in a hallway, not moving, not even blinking. Just standing, still as a statue. Around me, however, a storm raged. Through the darkness, I could hear howling as it echoed throughout the halls, hear screeching and sobbing and gunfire. There was a crash, then a bang, and smoke started to fill the hall. Something rushed past me, _through_ me, like I wasn't even there.

I noticed a figure then, walking towards me through the smoke. My mom appeared through the grey veil of cloud, stood right in front of me. She didn't touch me, didn't lay her hands against my cheeks like I had hallucinated earlier on, but I could still feel her there. She lifted a fist, something that shone clasped in her hand, and held it out for me. My necklace, I realised as she dropped it into my outstretched palm. I ran a finger over the wolves.

"Wake up," she said to me, her voice echoing off the walls just as the howls did. I looked up, but she was already gone, her echoes the only trace she was ever here. I felt my fingers tighten over the necklace, felt the silver dig into my palm, and the I heard it again, louder this time, coming from behind. "Wake up."

I bolted upright in my bed and suddenly felt the sharp pain in my hand. Looking down, I relaxed my hand and opened my fist to see my necklace. The one I never wear in bed. The one I always leave on my dressing table before I go to sleep. And then I remembered my dream.

"Scott."

* * *

**A/N: I don't know if I ever mentioned in one of the chapters that Kendra's maiden name was Lang, but then I realised that Lang witch sounded like language, and it ruined the whole thing for me. Plus, Hayward fits better, I like it. So, if I did ever say Lang, I didn't just get the surname wrong, I changed it.**

**Thanks for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	10. Don't Do Anything Stupid

**A/N: ****There's a little note about the season 3 story at the end A/N, if you guys wouldn't mind checking it out. Thanks!**

**Also, once again, I haven't done any proper proofreading. A little, but not loads. Sorry for any spelling mistakes and whatever. I'm tired.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

"Uh, hi, Ms McCall!" I shouted across the parking lot of the police station, trying to grab her attention as she placed her hand on the handle of the big front doors. I rushed forwards from my car, sliding in between her and the door. "What are you doing here?"

"The sheriff asked me to come in, he wants me to identify someone who was at the hospital last week," she explained, and I nodded. Matt. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Me?" I asked, and why was I not expecting that question?

"You," Ms McCall repeated, raising her eyebrows, telling me she knew I was being weird. "It's almost three am."

"Yes, yes it is," I agreed, nodding my head slowly and struggling to come up with an excuse. _Any_ excuse. "I, uh... I like to, uh, appreciate the town's architecture," I decided, smiling and nodding. "And it looks particularly beautiful when lit up by the full moon, don't you think?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, humming. "Sure," she said slowly, taking a step around me to push on the door again. I took a step too, still in her way. She raised one eyebrow at me in question, and I smiled. "What are you doing, Amber?"

"Hmm?"

"I have to go inside."

"No, you don't."

"Amber, I'm a witness. I spoke to a murder suspect. If you don't let me in, you're impeding an ongoing investigation."

"Rats," I blurted, out, closing my eyes a second after I said it. _Rats? That's the best I can come up with?_ "You can't go in there, because of rats."

Ms McCall sighed, smiling sadly at me. "Amber, listen to me," she said, and I nodded, ready to hear whatever she was going to tell me, whatever lecture, if it meant keeping her out of that building. Only, instead of speaking, she darted around me and barged into the station. My mouth fell open, both shocked and, for some reason, impressed that she had outwitted me, before I followed.

"Ms McCall, please," I called as she waited at the front desk. "Please, just-"

"Mom?"

We both turned around at the sound of Scott's voice, and saw him appearing from the hallway behind the desk. The look on his face wasn't too comforting.

"Scott, you scared me," his mom breathed, moving around the desk to him. I followed close behind. "Where is every..."

"Mom, just do what he says," Scott pleaded as she stared in horrified silence at the gun in Matt's hand, pointed at the back of Scott's head. I had to keep a hand on the desk next to me just to keep me upright. Creepy camera guy was going to kill us all. "He promised he wouldn't hurt you."

Matt smiled. "He's right," he said, moments before he dropped his hand to Scott's waist and fired a shot.

I don't really know what happened next, because all I could focus on the white hot pain in my side. I looked down and gently pressed my hand to where I felt the pain, trying to figure out what the hell happened, and I winced at the burn. I pulled my hand away quickly, and it was only then I noticed it was covered in blood. How the...

Scott.

I looked at Scott, my eyes wide, and saw him on the floor. clutching at the same spot I had been, the blood easily showing through his green shirt. My top was a dark blue, the blood coming from my own torso just a darker patch on the fabric. When he looked up at me, I could tell he knew. Whether he could smell the blood coming from me, or if he just figured it out, after what had happened after the rave, he knew it had affected me too.

"Get back!" Matt screamed at Ms McCall, who had instantly tried to rush to her son's side.

"Mom, Mom, stop," Scott begged, holding up a hand and telling her to stay back. She looked at her son, lying on the floor, in pain and bleeding, and slowly took another few steps.

"I said get back," Matt said quietly, angrily, and I reached out an arm to pull her back slightly.

"Scott," she said, not taking her eyes off Matt and the gun pointed at her.

"Matt, listen to me," I heard someone call down the hall. The sheriff.

"Shut- shut up!" Matt shouted, the gun in his hand wobbling. "Everybody shut the hell up! Now, McCall, get up, or I shoot her next!"

Scott got up, still clinging to his side, and Matt herded the three of us down the hall. Scott kept shooting me worried glances over his shoulder, but Matt would just scream at him to turn back around before he could say anything. We turned another corner and entered the cell room, where just a couple of weeks ago, Stiles and I had almost died at the hands of both hunter and werewolf alike. This room was not one for happy experiences.

The sheriff looked up when we walked into the room, handcuffed to the wall, and inssantly his eyes fell to the blood seeping through Scott's shirt. "Scott...Amber, what are you doing here?" The sheriff asked as soon as he saw me, Matt shoving Scott and I down next to the Sheriff while he locked Ms McCall in one of the cells.

"Uh..." I started, looking at Scott. I'm sure, had he not been wounded and in a lot of pain, he still wouldn't have been much help. "Scott said he'd call me, once y'all knew what was going on with Matt, but-" I felt a twinge, a _really_ painful twinge, in my stomach, and had to cut off to grit my teeth so I didn't cry out. I hadn't actually been shot, but I was bleeding and had a gaping wound in my side. That looked awfully suspicious. "When I woke up and he still hadn't called, I thought I'd come down and see how it was going."

"Bet you wish you'd stayed in bed now," the sheriff said, a tiny, bitter huff of a laugh tacked onto the end of his comment. I laughed back, putting a hand against the blood to try to stem it. That's what you do in these situations, right? Even if I had stayed in bed, I would've woken up to an unexplained gunshot wound in my abdomen and a lot of blood.

"Somehow, Sheriff, I think I would have ended up here anyway," I muttered bitterly.

"Please, he needs to see a doctor," Ms McCall begged from behind the bars, and Matt just smirked.

"You think so?" I heard him ask her, and, it may have just been me, but it sounded an awful lot like Matt knew about Scott, that he would heal.

Wait, Scott would heal. Scott was bleeding now, sure, but he should heal, eventually. The question was, would I heal too? Or just keep bleeding, because Scott's the only one of the two of us with supernatural healing capabilities?

"Hey, hey, you listen to me!" The sheriff shouted, pointing a finger at Matt.

"It's alright," Scott promised, nodding at his mom. "I'm okay."

"No, honey, you're not okay."

"It doesn't hurt, mom."

"That's the adrenaline, okay?" She turned to Matt, desperate. "Please, let me... let me just take a look at him, okay? I mean, I can stop the bleeding."

Matt turned to Scott, a smirk on his face. "They have no idea, do they?"

"Please," Ms McCall begged. "Let me just take a quick look. I-"

"Shut- shut up!" Matt screamed, turning back to Ms McCall, who flinched. I did too, if I'm honest. "Lady, if you keep talking, I'm gonna put the next bullet through his head."

"Okay," Ms McCall said, quietly. "Okay."

Matt turned back to us then, staring at Scott. "Back to the front, McCall," he ordered, before turning to frown at me. "How much do you weigh, Wilson?" he asked me, looking me up and down. Gross.

I scoffed. "You should never ask a lady about her weight, Matt." I sniffed. "It's impolite."

Matt smirked again, slowly wandering over to me. "I'm sure McCall can carry you anyway; he's _pretty_ strong, right?"

"Can't I just walk?" I suggested, and Matt tipped his head at me as he stopped right in front of me, all faux-sympathy.

"Not when you're unconscious, you can't," he said. And that's the last thing I remember.

* * *

The first thought that came to my head when I came to was _ow_.

The next was _fucker_.

"I'm gonna kill him," I muttered to myself, trying to pull myself up into a sitting position on the couch I had woken up on.

"Yeah, get in line," I heard someone respond. I knew that voice.

"Stiles?" I twisted my head around quickly, pausing for a second to shut my eyes tight when the world began to spin, and then managed to focus on the two very still figures on the floor. "Kanima?" I asked, and they both hummed.

"I didn't even see it until it was too late," Derek explained grouchily. "And Stiles was just being a jackass."

"That sounds about right," I murmured, to Stiles' indignant huff. "One day, that smart mouth of yours is going to get you killed."

"Is that why you came here?" Stiles asked me, staring at the ceiling. "To throw insults at me?"

"No, I dreamt that you were all going to die, so I came to the rescue," I smiled sarcastically, before huffing.

"Ahh, so it was another one of those pesky visions of yours." Stiles smiled to himself. "One day, their going to get you killed," he mocked.

"Funny," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Why do I smell blood?" Derek asked suddenly, and I cringed.

"It's probably the claws you have digging into your thigh," Stiles answered, and Derek sighed.

"No, Stiles, blood other than mine. It smells different. It smells... Amber, are you bleeding?"

"Oh my God, dude, you do _not_ ask a girl that," Stiles groaned, scrunching up his face.

"Scott got shot," I cut in, before the conversation could get any more uncomfortable. They were both silent for a second, both of them wondering why the hell I was telling them that when they were asking about me, until it finally sank in.

"Shit," Stiles muttered. "You need to get out of here, you need a hospital."

"Oh, okay," I said, nodding my head. "So I'll just march past the angry psychopath with a gun and the green lizard with claws and paralytic toxins and straight out the front door, shall I?"

"Well you can't just sit here and wait to bleed out," Stiles argued.

"She might be okay," Derek said, wincing as he, ew, pushed his claws further into his thigh. Why was he even doing that? "I can't be sure, because I've never seen this kind of Alpha-Emissary relationship before, nor have I ever met a real witch, but if you get hurt with Scott, you might heal with him too."

"That's what I was hoping," I admitted, gently touching a hand to the wound and, nope, still bleeding. "What are you doing, anyway, Derek?"

"What, no _Mr Hale_ anymore?" Stiles muttered, and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm trying to kick-start the healing process," he said, wincing again. "It should push out the toxins faster."

"Is it working?" Stiles asked him.

"I think so. I can move my toes."

Stiles huffed. "Dude, I can move my toes."

And then all the lights went out.

"What the hell..." Stiles muttered quietly, and I found myself thinking the same thing. "Was that you?"

"Stiles, I can barely light a candle without matches," I pointed out as an alarm started blaring. "Do you really think I could manage to cut the power with only the force of my mind?"

"Good point," he agreed. Then we heard glass shattering from down the hall, and what sounded eerily similar to gunfire.

"It's the Argents," Derek said. "Stiles, can you move anything other than your toes?"

"I can move the very, very tips of my fingers, but somehow I don't think that's going to be very helpful."

"Amber," Derek started, but I cut him off.

"There's no way in hell I'll be able to carry him, not like this," I said, sliding down from the couch to the floor beside them. "What do we do?"

Scott, the blessed boy, turned up just at that very moment, sprinting into the room.

"Take Stiles," Derek shouted at him, and Scott hesitated for a second. "Go!" Scott nodded, heaving Stiles up and wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist, dragging him out. He turned back to me when I didn't follow.

"Amber, c'mon," he urged, looking up and down the hall.

"But, Derek..."

"I'm fine," Derek promised. "It's wearing off, just go with them."

I was about to argue for a second, but Derek simply nodded, his eyes wide and expectant, so I jumped up and followed Scott down the dark and smokey hall, Stiles' feet dragging limply behind him. We reached a doorway, and just as I went to slam it behind us, Jackson was there, green and covered in scales and smirking through the glass. He pushed at the door, sliding a hand into the gap so I couldn't shut it.

"Scott," I shouted, not daring to look behind me to check where he was. "Scott, I can't shut the door."

"Okay, just uh... give me a second," he called back, and I kept my hands where they were on the glass of the small window to stop it from springing back open. Jackson's smirk just grew with every millimetre that he pushed the door open further, like he wasn't even trying. He had super-strength, he could shove that door open and kill me before I even had the chance to blink; he was playing with me.

"We don't have a second," I whined quietly, pushing all of my weight against the door. My hands were splayed across the almost clear barrier of glass that kept Jackson and I apart, and, looking at them, a memory hit me; Scott's house, Isaac approaching me with murder in his eyes, before flying across the hallway in the opposite direction. I did that. _I _did that.

My eyes flicked back up to Jackson, who was still smiling evilly at me. He bared his teeth – his kanima teeth – and I took that moment to squeeze my eyes shut tight, to see it, to see Jackson falling away from me, the same way Isaac had. And then I pulled my hands away from the glass, just a few inches, and I felt it, that buzz, the pulse running through my arms. I slammed my palms back against the glass, putting all my strength behind it and crying out at the effort, and I watched as the glass radiated with pulse, rippling away from where my hands had met the glass, less than a second before Jackson was pushed away, hitting the wall on the other side of the hall and crumpling in a heap on the floor. I only allowed myself a second of victory before I spun around and darted off after Scott, shutting and locking every other door behind me as I went.

"Where's Jackson?" Scott asked me as I finally made it to the interrogation room they were in.

"Hopefully still on the floor," I wished, though I doubted it. "I totally forgot that I was a witch and that I have magical powers for a second there." Scott smiled at me, nodding.

"Well, I'm glad you remembered," he said, before gesturing back to Stiles. "I need to find Derek. You stay here with Stiles, and stay quiet." I nodded once, and he ran back out the way we came. I locked the door behind him.

"Are you healing yet?" Stiles asked me, and I turned back to Stiles with my eyes wide. I had somehow managed to forget about the bullet-less bullet hole in my side until just now. I lifted my top, and there was blood everywhere, smeared all along my stomach, from my belly button to my hip, but no wound. I laughed. Scott had healed, and so had I. "Hey, Amber?" Stiles said, drawing my attention back to him. "I need a favour."

"That doesn't sound too good," I commented, leaning against the table. He managed, just, to lift his head to look at me properly.

"I need to find my dad."

"Stiles, you can barely move."

"Which is where you come in," he explained, smiling hopefully. "I can move my arms, I think, and my head, and my feet, but my legs aren't quite right yet. And if you're healed..."

"Stiles," I started, but he cut me off.

"Can we please just try?" Stiles begged, and I don't think I'd ever heard him use that tone of voice in front of me before. He sounded desperate. "I need to make sure he's okay." I shut my eyes, trying my hardest to tell him no, that we were safer here, away from the wolves and the Argents and the giant killer lizards, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. If it were my daddy in there, I'd move mountains to get to him.

I nodded, finally, and Stiles breathed a giant sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said, very quietly, and I moved to wrap on of his arms around my shoulders and haul him up from the seat.

"Just remember that you owe me one, Stilinski."

I, somehow, don't ask me how, managed to mostly drag Stiles along the hallways, both of us on the lookout for anything with claws or guns, until we finally started approaching the room where we last saw the sheriff. I sped up a little, aching to put Stiles down, until Matt came out of the shadows.

I had never stopped moving that fast in my life.

He didn't see us, his attention totally drawn to the grunting coming from the room, and we followed, just in time to see the sheriff come free from the wall. He and Ms McCall cheered, until Mat came up behind him and brought the gun in his hand down across the back of his hand. I pushed Stiles back, my eyes closing against the sight of the sheriff crumpling to the ground, and I heard Stiles' heavy breathing shake. I could make out Ms McCall pleading with Matt to let her out, to see to Scott. And then I heard a growl.

"Okay," I whispered, nodding to myself. "Stiles, I'm gonna put you in this room." I nodded to the door a few feet away, just as something crashed loudly. "I'm gonna leave you in there, and I'm gonna check on your dad, okay?"

"Amber-"

"He's fine, Stiles," I promised him, paying no attention to all of the noise coming from the room beside us. "Your dad's made it through much worse than being pistol-whipped by a sixteen year old, I'm sure. I just want to get him out of the way of whatever's happening in there, okay?" Stiles stared at me for a second, before he nodded, and we both pulled him along the hall until we made it to the door, and I pushed it open. It was an office, much like all the others in the station, and I dropped down onto the couch. "Just stay quiet, and I'll be right back."

"Don't do anything stupid," he told me, and I snorted.

"When do I ever?"

"You remember that time you had a psychic dream about things going terribly wrong here, and you thought it would be a good idea to come down and check it out for yourself?"

I pursed my lips, nodding. "You may have a point there."

"Yeah," Stiles breathed. "Don't do anything stupid."

I heard another crash, this one louder than the others, and nodded at Stiles. "I won't," I promised, before running past him and back out into the hall, making sure to shut the door tight behind me. I crept along the hall, peeking around the corner and seeing Derek struggling with the kanima, Ms McCall looking on, horrified at the sight. I could understand that. The sheriff was still on the floor in the middle of the room, out cold. I kept an eye on the fighting pair as I managed to slide further into the room undetected, running over to the sheriff and grabbing his arm, using every ounce of strength I had left to pull him closer to the bench, away from the violent fight.

"Amber," Ms McCall hissed at me, and I looked up from my efforts to see her crying slightly. "Where's Scott? Is he okay?"

I nodded. "He's fine, Ms McCall, I promise."

"He got shot, Amber," she argued, more tears streaming down her face.

"I know, I know it looked bad, but you have to trust me. He's absolutely fine."

She frowned at me, and I couldn't tell if it was because she didn't know why I was lying to her, or because she didn't know why I thought I genuinely believed what I was saying, but either way, I had work to do. I heaved the sheriff a little further off, backing him up against the wall and huffing, turning back to Ms McCall and being met with the face of the kanima.

"Oh, fuck," I breathed, seconds before the kanima screeched and flew away. It hit the wall on the other side of the room, and then Derek's there, chasing it down the hall and away from us.

"Scott," Ms McCall whimpered, and I turned to see Scott crouched in front of the cell his mom was in. "Scott, are you okay?" Scott looked up at me, his face fully wolfed-out, and then he turned to his mom. His mom, who stopped crying instantly, who backed away from her own son when he stood up, who started sobbing all over again as she took in her son's face. He looked away from her, and when he looked back at me, I could almost feel the grief, the shame. His own mom was terrified of him.

I stepped forward and grabbed his hand, giving him a quick smile and pulling him from the room, back to Stiles. By the time we got there, Stiles was flexing his legs while he sat on the couch, testing some of his weight on each one. His head shot up when the door opened.

"Hey, is everything okay?" he asked, his eyes flicking between the two of us. I nodded.

"Derek chased the kanima off somewhere, I don't know." Then Stiles' eyes dropped to our hands, mine holding tightly onto his, and he frowned.

"Scott?" he asked, almost wary.

Scott cleared his throat, his face back to it's regular, less hairy, look. "I have to go. I have to find Matt." He dropped my hand then, and stormed back out into the hall. I shut the door behind him and wandered over to drop into the seat beside Stiles.

"His mom saw his face," I explained, not needing to be asked. "His werewolf face, and she freaked." I blew out a long, heavy breath, and my head fell against the back of the couch. "She's probably still crying."

"She cried?" Stiles asked, and I nodded, not moving my head from its spot. It was oddly therapeutic.

"Like she'd just found out someone had died."

* * *

The lacrosse championship game was a pretty big deal around here, so when I woke up Friday morning, I wasn't at all surprised to hear my dad singing downstairs. He wasn't even that big of a fan of lacrosse, but Beacon Hills was a small place, and as the big game approached, the excitement was catching. The whole town was buzzing, even the old man who owned the butchers that Daddy visited every week. It was nice; it gave the place a sense of community, and I took comfort in that, especially now.

While Daddy and I were back on speaking terms and had sorted through all our problems – that he knew about, that it – Scott and his mom had barely spoken since the night at the station, and no matter how much Stiles and I knew it was hurting him, there was nothing any of us could do to fix it. We just had to let it run its course, let her come to terms with it. She would, eventually. I hope.

It didn't help that Scott had spoken to Allison since that night either. None of us had. I didn't know what was going on with her, only that she had been her usual self at Lydia's party, only to disappear and turn up at the station with a crossbow and a vendetta with Derek, according to Scott. We didn't know anything else, didn't know what had caused the 180 in her attitude, but I didn't like it, and she wasn't answering my calls.

On a brighter note, I could light a candle with my mind all on my own now.

I was sat at my desk that afternoon, talking to an old Nashville friend, Jamie, when I got a call from Stiles.

"What's wrong?" I asked instead of saying hello, Poe lifting her head off my bed at the sound. While Stiles and I had somehow become friends, we still weren't the type of friends to call each other just to chat. Something was up.

"Okay, you're going to the game tonight, right?"

"Right," I answered with a nod, a proud smile on my face. "Josh is playing."

"I don't think either of those things is a good idea."

"What?" I asked, a frown on my face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Scott spoke to Isaac today, and Jackson's playing tonight," Stiles explained, and the day instantly took a very bad turn. Tonight was not going to be pretty. "So unless you want your little brother on the field with a homicidal lizard, I suggest you guys stay home tonight."

"Okay, I see your point," I agreed, nodding to myself slowly. "But keeping him away from that game isn't going to be easy. Are you going?"

"I wasn't, and neither was Scott, but it made sense that we go in case anything happens."

"If you guys are going, I'm going."

"Amber-"

"No, I'm serious," I argued, putting my foot down. "I'd only end up there anyway, if the other night suggests anything. I ain't staying home and pretending everything's okay while you guys are playing lacrosse with Jackson and his tail."

"Don't be such a martyr," Stiles groaned, and I rolled my eyes.

"Hello pot, have you met kettle yet?" I said, and heard Stiles' answering scoff. "Listen, it ain't even that bad. I mean, Matt's dead, right? And sure, the kanima's deadly, but without a master, it'll only go after murderers, right?"

"You are correct in that logic, yes," Stiles agreed, a breathed a sigh of slight relief. Until Stiles continued talking. "However..."

"Oh, lord, I hate howevers."

"Scott had another visitor this morning," Stiles sighed.

"The kanima?"

"Yeah. And its new master, Gerard Argent."

I was quiet for a second, too busy trying to rid my head of all the terrible, _terrible_ things that could happen now that Allison's grandfather had the kanima on his side. "The psycho with the broadsword now has Jackson doing all his dirty deeds?"

Stiles hummed, confirming. "Apparently, he's out for vengeance for Kate."

"Peter killed Kate, and he's dead."

"Yeah, apparently that isn't enough for him. I don't know what he's planning, but I don't think it means anything good for anyone with supernatural powers."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you suggesting something?"

"Yeah, I'm suggesting that you stay out of the way," Stiles said. "As far as we know, he doesn't know about you yet, and I think it's best if we keep it that way."

"So what, I just hide out in my house until Gerard dies of old age?"

"Exactly," Stiles agreed, almost cheerfully. I snorted.

"Screw that," I decided. "There ain't no way in hell that an old man is keep me locked away in my house until I can move away to college. If you guys are going to this game, then so am I."

"Amber, c'mon."

"I'm serious, Stiles. We're a team, right?" I asked, and when I heard him sigh, I knew I'd said the right thing. "We're a pack."

Stiles grumbled under his breath for a second. "Fine. Just don't do anything stupid."

"Since when do I ever do anything stupid?"

"Pretty sure we already had this conversation the other night. You seem to enjoy ignoring every warning your witchy brain gives you to save people and put your own life in danger in the process."

"Oh, careful, Stiles," I warned, grinning. "You really sound like you care what happens to me. People might think we're actually _friends_."

"And we certainly don't want that," Stiles agreed, before sighing heavily. "Listen, just… Just stay away from Jackson, and Gerard. No matter what you see, or hear, or _fore_see, just stay away, okay?"

"Okay, Stiles, I'll stay away," I promised. "The same goes for you, you know. You're just as fragile as I am."

"And that's where the benefit of constantly warming the bench comes in; I won't have to be on the pitch with Jackson tonight, and I might just survive."

"We're talking as though Gerard is going to make a move during the game. He ain't stupid enough to have Jackson kanima-out in front of that many people, surely?"

"You've met the Argents, right? One of them set a house filled with people on fire, one of them tried to poison Scott, and one of them cut a guy in _half_," Stiles pointed out. I tipped my head. "When it comes to that family, _always_ plan for the worst case scenario."

"And worst case for tonight is…"

"Is Gerard has Jackson slaughter everyone at the game, probably." I huffed. "And given his track record, I don't think that would be too much of a stretch for him."

"Tonight sounds fun," I muttered, and Stiles scoffed his agreement.

"Alright, I gotta go, I'm at the school now, and I need to get changed and ready for Coach's annual Independence Day speech."

"Oh, lord, that's an _annual_ thing?"

"Yeah, and with every year that passes, it doesn't get any less annoying."

* * *

Daddy and I wandered onto the field, my hands in my jeans pockets as my eyes swept over the players on the field and found Jackson. He wasn't moving, just staring at the ground, until Coach screamed in his face and startled him out of it. I caught his eye then, and he blinked, staring at me for an unnervingly long time. Then he turned around to face the other players already warming up, without so much as a smile, or even a glare. Just… nothing.

"Everything okay with you and Jackson?" Daddy asked, obviously noticing the strange greeting.

I turned to him, a tight smile on my face. "He's been a bit stressed out lately. Mid-terms, and everything." Daddy nodded, and I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't say anything else.

As we passed Stiles on the bench, Scott by his side for a change, I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at them. "I'm just gonna say hi," I informed Daddy, and he glanced over my shoulder and frowned at the pair. "Save me a seat?"

Daddy eyed Stiles and Scott for a second, probably confused as to when we even started hanging out, but shrugged. "Sure. Don't take too long, I think the game's starting soon." I nodded, smiling, and Daddy sent one last frown in their direction before turning around and heading up the bleachers. I sat down beside Stiles, frowning at Scott.

"Shouldn't you be warming up?" I asked him. "Why aren't you warming up?"

"Because I'm not playing," he explained, before dropping his head into his hands and groaning.

"What do you mean, you're not playing?"

"He means he's failing three classes," Stiles answered for Scott. "And Coach can't play him tonight."

"So you're telling me Jackson's playing tonight and our one chance at keeping him from doing something stupid and dangerous is on the bench?"

"That's exactly what we're telling you," Stiles muttered, his knee bouncing.

"Oh, lord, we're all gonna die."

"On the bright side," Stiles said, tilting his head. "You can die in peace, since it looks like you and your dad made up."

I winced a little. "You and your dad haven't?"

"Things are weird," Stiles answered, waving a hand around. "At least my dad hasn't just found out I'm a werewolf." We both turned to Scott, who just groaned some more. "Have you seen Lydia?" Stiles asked, turning back to me.

I shook my head. "Not since her party, when she drugged us and ditched. I've text her a couple times, and she said she's fine. I think she's coming tonight." I glanced over at Scott, how had finally lifted his head and sat back in his seat. "I'm not sure about Allison, though."

"It's gonna be bad, isn't it?" Stiles said, looking at Scott. "I mean, like, people screaming, running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming kind of bad." I sighed, and bit my lip. Even without whatever foresight I had, I could see it. Tonight wasn't going to go well. I turned in my seat, watched Daddy laugh with the Sheriff about something from his seat behind him. It was nice, seeing him happy like that.

Scott sighed, and I turned back to see him staring holes into the grass in front of him. "Looks like it."

"I'm gonna put myself on parent duty," I said, standing up and wrapping my arms around me. "That way, if anything does go horribly, catastrophically wrong, y'all don't have to worry about them." They both nodded, grateful smiles on their faces. "Just be careful, both of you. Even if you ain't on the field, you ain't exactly out of the danger zone."

"We'll be fine," Scott promised, nodding his head. "Probably, anyway."

"Comforting, McCall," I responded, narrowing my eyes at him before turning around to join Daddy on the bleachers.

"Ah, you finally made it," Daddy joked as I sat down beside him. "What took you so long?"

"It's the championship game, Daddy," I said, smiling. "There's a lot of nerves flying around the place."

"How are they doing?" the sheriff asked me, turned in his seat to face us. "I mean, I know Stiles doesn't play, but he still gets worked up over these things."

"Oh, he's worked up, alright," I said, smiling awkwardly. I turned to nod at Stiles. "But I'm sure he'll… wait, what?" Why was Stiles leaving the bench?

The sheriff turned at my vague question, and we both watched as Stiles jogged onto the field, stick and helmet in hand.

"Oh, no," the Sheriff mumbled, his shoulders slumping. "Why is my son running out onto the field?"

"Because he's on the team?" Ms McCall suggested, from her seat next to the Sheriff.

"He is," the Sheriff said, realisation dawning on his face. He turned to me, his eyes wide, and I smiled excitedly. "He's on the team. He's… He's on the field." I giggled a little, holding a hand to my mouth to cover it, and turned to Daddy, a very confused look on his face as the Sheriff stood up and cheered. "My son is on the field!" I laughed as everyone around us turned to stare, and the Sheriff slowly sunk back into his seat. I swear I could hear him repeating it to himself every so often, the odd, aborted victory fist pump making an appearance with his words.

As the Sheriff continued to cheer on his son under his breath, Lydia caught my eye. She smiled at me as she climbed the steps and sat down beside me, nodding her head. I hadn't seen her in days, and she was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

"Hi," was all I said, smiling happily just to see her again.

"Hey," she greeted in return, folding her hands in her lap. "Stiles is playing?" I nodded.

"Where have you been?" I asked quietly, quiet enough that the parents shouldn't hear us.

"Figuring things out," she replied, nodding slightly. "I'm okay," she promised, smiling at me again. "I just needed some time to myself."

I nodded again, reaching out to lay a hand over hers. She grabbed it tightly, and the whistle blew, signalling the start of the game.

Lydia leant toward me, wincing. "How terrible is Stiles going to be?"

* * *

Very terrible, apparently.

For the third time that I'd managed to watch instead of hiding behind my hands, the ball landed in Stiles' net seconds before he was crushed by a member of the other team. He would definitely have some nasty bruises before the end of the game.

"He's just nervous," Lydia suggested, and I saw Ms McCall nod in front of us, agreeing. Praying. "There's plenty of time to turn it around."

I watched as the ball flew in Stiles direction, and I could see him lining up to catch it, only to be pelted in the head with it. The crowd groaned, and I glared at them all.

"He's trying," I murmured, mostly to myself. "That's what counts, right?"

"Catching the ball wouldn't hurt, though," I heard the Sheriff respond, groaning and dropping his head into his hands so he didn't have to watch anymore.

And then, nobody was even watching Stiles, because Isaac came onto the field and started flooring his own teammates. The change of pace was definitely a welcome one. At least no one hated Stiles the worst now.

"What the hell is he doing?" Daddy shouted, just as Isaac run at another player and ended up on the floor himself. I stood up from my seat, a hand over my mouth, as Scott ran out to check on him. He didn't move, from what I could see, and a stretcher was next to him in a second. I glanced over to Stiles, who was already looking up at me, and he shrugged as Ms McCall stood up and jogged down to the field, to Scott.

That's when Coach threw a helmet at Scott. Isaac was being carried off the field, and Scott was, apparently, being brought on to play.

"Oh, thank the lord," I muttered, nodding in Scott's direction for Stiles to see it too, and I think he had pretty much the same reaction. Finally, we had a shot in hell.

Or, so I thought.

I was wrong.

The game was still going terribly. I don't know what was up with Scott, whether it was Allison, or Jackson, or Gerard, but I think it's safe to say that he was on the floor more than Stiles.

And then he disappeared.

"Wait, where the _hell_ is Scott?" I suddenly exclaimed after watching Stiles get pummelled. Again.

"What?" Daddy asked, not turning from the game. When I say _game_, I think it's pretty safe to assume he was keeping an eye on Josh. He was small, and quick, so had managed to avoid being attacked up until this point, but it was only a matter of time, I was sure.

"Scott's gone," I said, my eyes scanning the entire field, and, yep, he was nowhere to be found. "Yeah, that's just what we need right now. We have five minutes left, we're losing, and one of our best players, one of the few players in the entire team still standing, has disappeared."

"Maybe he went to check in that kid," Daddy suggested, shrugging. "The one who got stretchered off."

I shook my head. "Isaac's fine," I muttered. "Scott wouldn't leave, not unless it was an emergency."

"It might have been worse than it looked," Daddy said, a little distracted by the gruesome game. "Even the principal went in after him."

"What?" I asked, turning to Daddy. Gerard went in after Isaac? The guy who likes to cut werewolves in half followed a werewolf off the field? "Yeah, I think it's a lot worse than it looked."

"Amber," Lydia said quietly, reaching out to grab my hand and draw my attention. I looked at her, saw her staring out onto the field, and followed. There, stood alone in the middle of the field, stood Stiles, the ball at his feet. He was looking back and forth between the ball, the goal and the rest of the players, huddled together at the other end of the pitch. He scooped up the ball, watching the other players very carefully and started running.

"Oh, lord," I muttered, squeezing Lydia's hand as all the other players took notice of Stiles and started chasing him down the field. I'm pretty sure I could hear him screeching, and the Sheriff had his head in his hands again.

Stiles stopped several feet from the goals, and turned to see the mass of players rushing at him. Coach was screaming at him, and I now had my hands in my hair, willing him to just _throw it_.

"C'mon, Stiles," I muttered, groaning, and he still stood there, not moving. "Oh, lord, _Stiles_!" I screamed, finally getting to my feet and throwing my hands out to the side when he looked up at his name, asking him what the hell he was doing. "Shoot the goddamn ball!

He turned back to the goal, seemingly on autopilot, and threw his stick forward, the ball flying forward and hitting the back of the net.

Everyone was silent for a split second, thinking _did that really just happen_, until everyone started cheering, jumping up in their seats and screeching, the Sheriff louder than them all. Stiles looked around him, confused, his head whipping back and forth, before it finally hit him. All I heard then was "I scored a goal!" coming from the field.

From that point onwards, it was like it wasn't even Stiles playing anymore. He was sprinting down the field, side-stepping and darting around the other players, scoring goal after goal, and the cheering didn't dim for a second. The Sheriff was up and down in his seat, cheering on his son with the proudest smile I think I've ever seen anyone wear. Never tell Stiles this, but it was incredible.

And then everything changed.

It went dark, all the floodlights cutting out and submerging everyone in black. People started screaming, blood-curdling screams that surrounded me, and all I could think about was Jackson. There was nothing else; no pain, no fear. It wasn't like before, with the Sheriff, or Lydia, or the night Jackson was bit. I didn't feel a thing, it was just… cold. So very, very cold.

I blinked, and the lights were back. People were cheering, the rest of the Beacon Hills team were crowding around Stiles, jumping around at our one point lead with ten seconds left on the clock. But Jackson was elsewhere, marching away from the group with a purpose. I didn't know what was about to happen, but I knew it involved Jackson, and that was all I needed to know to have me pushing past a confused Lydia and sprinting down the bleachers, towards Jackson as the buzzer went and the crowd went crazy over our win.

The second my boot hit the grass, it happened; the world went dark and the cheering cut out, instantly replaced with confused and frightened mumbling. I didn't hear the screaming though; I didn't get the chance to, because before it started, something hit me.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, this is where things get interesting, guys.**

**I know I've mentioned before that I wasn't sure if I wanted to stick to the canon plotline entirely, and I've had a couple comments on the subject, so I wanted to know what you guys thought about things changing a little.**

**Amber, obviously, was never in canon, and her appearance in the happenings of Beacon Hills might change things up a bit. Not dramatically, but enough to, perhaps, save certain lives or stop people from leaving to Europe, South America, etc. So I wanted to know if you guys would prefer canon, or a slight AU, where less people die and Amber's presence can change a few outcomes. Let me know in the comments/tumblr/polyvore or any other way you can think of letting me know, if you have a preference.**

**Thanks for the continued support, guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	11. There Ain't Nothing More Human Than Love

**A/N: The quality of this chapter is shocking, and I'm sorry. I did everything I could to make it less gross without re-writing the entire thing, but I just want to apologise in advance. I've started working now, and my boyfriend was down this week, which is why I didn't update last Wednesday like I should have, and it all came out terribly.**

**Bet you guys really wanna read it now, huh?!**

**This is the final chapter of _Occult_! Don't forget, if you guys have any preferences on how the next story goes (canon vs. alternate depending on Amber's input), I'd love to hear about it. You can say it in a review, private message me on here, or on tumblr, or any other platform I'm on. There's links on my profile, so have at it.**

**I don't own Teen Wolf. Shock Horror.**

* * *

I don't really know how much time had passed by the time I finally came to. All I knew for sure at the time was that I was lying on something soft, and my head was _killing_ me.

"It's nice to see you're finally awake," I heard a deep voice say, and I managed to drag my eyes open enough to make out Mr Argent stood over me, his arms folded across his chest. I frowned. Why was I with Mr Argent?

I groaned, pressed a hand against my throbbing temple. "What the hell happened?"

He shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I came home, you were passed out on my coach, and that's all the information I've managed to gather."

I pushed myself into a sitting position, leaning back against the back of the couch and wincing at the pain behind my eyes. "I ain't positive, but I'm thinking it has something to do with your father using my best friend to kill people."

"Actually," a new voice answered, and I turned to see Gerard Argent himself meandering into the room, a creepy smile on his face and two of his largest goons behind him. "It has more to do with _you_. For instance, what had you running onto the lacrosse field in such a panic in the last few seconds of the game?"

Ah.

"I couldn't find Scott," I answered. I mean, not seeing Scott on the field _had_ worried me, so I wasn't technically lying. "I figured I'd go looking for him."

Gerard's smile grew. "So it has nothing to do with why you were at the police station the other night?"

"I was checking in on Scott and Stiles."

"In the middle of the night? You didn't think a phone call would suffice?"

"I prefer to see them with my own eyes," I answered, and why did Gerard smile so much? It was creepy. Or maybe that was _exactly_ why.

"Is that also why you returned to the library while your friends were in detention last week?"

"Are you trying to make a point?" I asked him, narrowing my eyes in his general direction, but also _really_ not wanting to make eye-contact with him. I was kind of scared it might paralyse me. "Or are you just listing my recent whereabouts?"

"Why do you associate yourself with the wolves?" Gerard asked me, the smile dropping from his face to reveal a grimace much more terrifying. "You, of all people, should understand the danger one poses to oneself and loved ones when one helps and defend them. Do you want to end up like your mother?"

"Don't talk about my mom," I spat, the sudden anger in me almost washing away the fear.

"She would still be here if it weren't for the werewolf kind," Gerard said, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of me. "Do you not feel any anger, any hatred, over her death?"

"I did," I nodded, swallowing. "I hated Scott, I hated all of them. And then I realised how stupid it was to tar all werewolves with the same brush, and I got over it."

The smile was back now. "You just got over it," he repeated, nodding. "You just got over the brutal slaughter of your mother."

"Gerard," Mr Argent cut in, but he was cut off with a quick glare. The day had finally come when Mr Argent wasn't the person I disliked the most in a room.

"I did a little bit of research on you," Gerard said, his smile back now. "After the _incident_ in the library, I looked into your records, into the information on your family that Kate had piled together before she was murdered." He tipped his head. "It was very smart of your mother to defy tradition and change her name when she married. Most witches prefer to keep their maiden names."

Ah, shit.

"Witches?" Mr Argent cut in, scoffing. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," Gerard answered, his eyes not leaving my face. "Amber here is a Hayward witch, one of the most powerful and respected witch families known to exist. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"It has recently been brought to my attention, yes," I admitted. "Why do you care?"

"Why do I care that my enemies have access to a weapon as powerful as a Hayward witch?" he asked, almost sarcastically. "I can't let them have such an upper hand, now, can I?"

I snorted, frowning. "What are you gonna do, kill me?"

"I was hoping it wouldn't be as violent as that," he drawled, and suddenly the whole situation didn't seem as snort-worthy. "I was hoping I may be able to convince you to come around. To see my side of things. The wolves are nobody's friends but their own."

"Scott's my friend," I said, with no hesitation or doubt.

"Scott is a werewolf," Gerard said, correcting me. "Scott is part of a pack, of Derek's pack."

"Scott's part of his own pack," I argued, narrowing my eyes.

"And you think you're part of that pack?" he asked me, before laughing. "You're deluding yourself, Miss Wilson, just as Mr Stilinski is, just as Allison used to. He's a werewolf; he will turn on you, eventually. When you finally understand that, maybe you'll be able to see this whole situation from our perspective."

"Or maybe I'll still see you as the complete psycho standing before me, and I'll just hate everyone," I suggested, shrugging.

Gerard nodded for a minute, his face devoid of emotion, until he looked up at his heavily-built friends. "Take her downstairs. I'm sure her friends will enjoy the company." Friends?

One of the guys stepped forward and grabbed my arm, pulling my up from the couch with a bit too much force and dragging me towards a door behind a stairs.

"Wait," I said, eyeing the door suspiciously. "When you say 'downstairs', do you mean the basement? I don't do well with basements."

"And I don't do well with disrespect," Gerard called after me, a smile in his voice.

The guy holding my arm pulled open the door, revealing a steep staircase leading down, and I groaned. He pushed my forward, towards the stairs, and I stepped onto the top stair carefully.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," I muttered as he pushed me further in. "No need to _throw_ me down them, jeez." The door slammed shut behind me as soon as I was far enough in, and then everything was dark. "Great. I'm in a dark basement. Just what I needed today."

"Amber?" The relief I felt at that voice was instantaneous. And slightly frightening.

"Oh, lord, Stiles, I never thought I'd see the day that I actually _liked_ the sound of your voice," I called down the stairs, slowly trying to feel my way down them in the dark. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" I huffed, hanging onto the bannister for dear life.

"Are we really gonna do the 'I asked you first' thing?"

"Gerard," he answered simply, and I nodded.

"Hey, what do you know? Me too," I responded bitterly as I finally reached the bottom of the staircase. "Is there a light in here?"

"Just at the end of the stairs, on your left," his disembodied voice said, and I felt along the wall for the switch, finally landing on it and flicking it upwards. The lights above me quickly came to light, and the first thing I noticed when I turned back around was the two figures strung up to the ceiling.

"Oh, my god," was all I could manage, a hand flying to my heart. Erica and Boyd hung there, looking terrified and utterly wrecked, and I quickly ran over to them to try to cut them down.

"No, don't do that," Stiles said, slapping my hands away from the wires at their wrists. "The wires are electrified. If you touch it, it hurts. Trust me." I huffed, my shoulders slumping as I turned to Stiles, only for my mouth to drop open again. "There's nothing down here to cut them down, and they keep growling at me when I try to touch the wires, anyway."

I struggled to say anything for a minute, to busy trying to take in the bruising and cuts around Stiles' face. "What happened?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, waving a hand like it wasn't important. "Gerard's trying to get to Scott through me. Guess he figured this would be the most effective method," Stiles said, waving a hand in the direction of his face. I lifted my own hand, going to touch the nasty cut along his cheek before I thought better of it, and pulled my hand away.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not so much anymore," Stiles answered, shaking his head. "What did he want with you, anyway?"

I tipped my head, gladly changing the conversation from what the psychopath had done to Stiles. "You remember the conversation we had earlier on, about laying low so he didn't figure out my 'special talents'?" Stiles nodded. "Turns out, he already knew. Has known for, like, a week. I think he wants me on his side of all this; he doesn't like that 'the werewolves' have me as their ally, or whatever."

"He was trying to convince you to join the Dark Side?" Stiles muttered, scoffing.

"Never," I said, shaking my head eagerly. "I'll never turn to the Dark Side."

"Okay, why is it I can't convince my best friend to watch _Star Wars_, but you can quote it while being held captive in a geriatric werewolf hunter's basement?"

I tut-tutted. "I think you'll find the answer to that question is that I'm awesome."

Before Stiles could argue with my obviously flawless answer, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and a shadowed figure made its way down the steps. Stiles wrapped a hand around my wrist, pulling me back, but when Mr Argent's face came into the light of the basement, I relaxed. Of all the men upstairs, he was definitely the least terrifying one.

"You two are done here," he said simply, nodding at Stiles and I. "I'm giving the two of you a ride further into town." He started back up the stairs, expecting us to follow, but I turned back to the two werewolves strung up beside me.

"What about Erica and Boyd?" I asked him, glancing between them and Mr Argent. "We can't just leave them."

"By all means, you can stay here, if you'd like," Mr Argent said, stopping on the stairs to turn back to us. "Or you can come with me, _now_, and go home to your families. Which would you prefer?"

I heard a muffled sound beside me, and I turned to see Erica tipping her head towards Mr Argent, widening her eyes at me and nodding. Stiles sighed heavily behind me, and pulled me forward with him as he followed Mr Argent, who just continued his climb up the stairs. I sent one last look at Erica and Boyd, throwing them the most comforting smile I could manage at the minute, before we passed through the door and Mr Argent shut it behind us.

* * *

Mr Argent dropped us off not far from Stiles' house, with strict orders to not attempt to go back to his house or to tell anybody what happened.

Yeah, because we were just gonna run down to the station and fill out a police report. Sure.

"What are we going to tell everyone?" I asked Stiles as we walked along the sidewalk, his house finally coming into view. It was a surprisingly welcoming sight. "It ain't like we can just say we left the game early or anything; you're a little bit bruised."

"Oh, really?" Stiles asked me sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at me. "I'd forgotten the part where a ninety year old beat me up, thanks for reminding me."

I was quiet for a second. "I think he's more like seventy," I murmured, and Stiles grumbled.

"We'll just say a couple of the guys from the other team did it. I got a bit cocky in the parking lot, and they didn't like it. And then, you come along and try to break it up, so they brought you along for the ride too."

"You really think they'll believe that?" I asked him, doubting the plan.

"No," Stiles answered, shaking his head as we stepped up onto the porch of the Stilinski residence. "Do you have anything better?"

I scoffed. "Even the truth ain't better."

Stiles opened the door, and after I followed him into the house, I shut the door tight behind me, making sure to lock it. Sure, the Argents would definitely still be able to get in if they decided they changed their minds and wanted us back, but a lock was better than nothing, right? At least, that's what I told myself.

"Alright, just wait here a second," Stiles said, glancing up the stairs. "I'm gonna… explain this to my dad, to the best of my lying ability, and then he can give you a ride home, okay?" I nodded, smiling, and then Stiles disappeared, dragging himself up the stairs to the sound of his dad's voice. I stood in the hallway, left completely alone with just my thoughts for company.

They were _terrible_ company.

A few minutes later, after a few raised voices from above, Amber turned to the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. The sheriff was stood in front of her in a flash, his hands on her shoulders and a look of concern on his face. She was pretty sure he's been crying.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"I'm fine."

"Did they touch you?"

"No, seriously, I'm okay, Sheriff," I promised, giving him my most sincere look. "They didn't touch me." There sheriff nodded, and was quiet for a second, before he blew out a long breath.

"I'm going to call you father," he said, dropping his hands and standing up straight. He ran a hand over his face, taking a step back and reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "He's worried sick, especially after what happened at the game."

I frowned, a sudden sick feeling settling in my stomach. I'd been so caught up in everything that had happened in the Argent house, I had completely forgotten about what I'd seen, what I'd felt, just before the end of the game. The darkness, the screaming, the cold. "What happened at the game?"

The sheriff shut his mouth quickly, closing his eyes for a brief second. "I think we should wait for your father to get here." That couldn't mean anything good.

"No, tell me now," I ordered, not even caring if I sounded like a brat. Something had happened, something bad. And I had every suspicion that it had something to do with Jackson.

"Amber," the Sheriff started, but I cut him off with a growl.

"Just tell me!" I yelled, every possible scenario running through my head. Daddy was okay, the Sheriff had said he was going to call him, but Josh had been on the field with Jackson. So had Danny.

"Amber, it's not something I think I should be telling you," he said, tipping his head just slightly, worry in his eyes. It wasn't the first time someone had looked at me like that.

"Dad?" Stiles asked from the top of the stairs, changed out of his kit and into sweats. He made his way down the stairs, frowning at the two of us. "What's going on?"

"Something bad happened," I answered for the sheriff, crossing my arms over my chest. The sheriff didn't argue, just sighed heavily.

"What… is anyone hurt?" Stiles asked, wandering over to his dad. "What happened?"

"I don't-"

"Please?" I begged, feeling the slightest sting behind my eyes. Dammit, I am _not_ going to cry. _No_. I'm not above begging, though, apparently. "I'm freaking out a little bit here."

The sheriff sighed again, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "It's Jackson Whittemore," he finally said, and I groaned. _I _knew _it_.

"What did he do?" Stiles asked his dad, anxious now. We both knew what Jackson was capable of; he'd wiped out the whole night shift at the police station. Lord knows what he could have done to a field full of innocent, unarmed people in the dark.

"He didn't _do_ anything," the sheriff answered, surprising us both. I frowned at Stiles, who's face conveyed all the confusion I was feeling, and we both turned back to the sheriff. "There was an incident on the field, when all the lights went out. Someone got hurt." The way the sheriff glanced back at me told me enough. Jackson hadn't hurt anyone. Jackson was hurt.

My mouth gaped for a second, and I had to clear my throat before I finally managed to speak. "Is he at the hospital? Is he okay?"

"He's at the hospital, but no," the sheriff said gently, tipping his head again. My eyes fell closed, and by the time I managed to open them again, I felt them filling up. "He's not okay."

"How not okay is he, exactly?" Stiles asked when I didn't speak again. There was something stuck in my throat.

The sheriff looked over at me again, and _why_ does bad news always come with that same expression? It's fortunate that I already knew what that look of sympathy and concern meant, because I couldn't hear the sheriff's next words over the buzzing in my ears.

Jackson was dead.

* * *

I think the sheriff had tried to explain things to me, tried to tell me what he knew had happened, but I hadn't really been listening. Jackson was dead. I didn't care about the details. My best friend was dead, and that's all I really needed to know. Everything else was irrelevant.

It's funny, really, how different this was to what had happened after my mom had died. There was no denial now, no screaming and sobbing. I just kind of sat there, on the couch where the sheriff had sat me down. I didn't move, didn't cry. I don't know whether Mom's death had numbed me to every other death there was to come, or if everything that had happened here over the last few months had prepared me for this moment, but I kind of felt like I should have seen this coming. I should have expected this. How else could this have all ended, really? It was stupid and naïve to ever think this could have worked out. Jackson was an abomination, a monster. We didn't know how to save him, or even if we _could_. In the end, there had only ever been two options; let him live and continue to do the bidding of whoever his master may be, or kill him. And I can't believe I'd managed to forget that.

Daddy and Josh picked me up at some point. I'm not really sure how long I'd been sat on the couch, or what time it was, but eventually Daddy's face dropped down in front of mine, and then we were in the car, on our way home. It was like I kept blacking out; I was at home, sat on my bed in comfier clothes with Poe curled up on my lap, but I could only remember small chunks of how I got there.

I heard a knock on the door, and turned to see Danny poking his head through the small gap. He sent me a smile, a sad one, and he pushed the door to behind him before sitting beside me on the edge of the bed.

"How're you doing?" he asked me, leaning back against the headboard. He looked tired.

"I'm great," I answered, nodding as I looked back down at Poe. "Never been better." Danny snorted, but he didn't say anything else. I didn't think anything of it until I heard him sniff, and when I turned around to face him he had his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. I sat back, leant my head on his shoulder. I think it helped.

"I've barely spoken to him all week," Danny managed to get out, between his vain attempts to quiet his sobs. "He'd been acting so weird, and I don't know what the hell is going on, and now he's gone." He sniffed again, final lifting his head. "And where the hell were you?" he asked me, and I had to look away. I didn't want to lie to him again. Not right now. "I looked for you, when I realised what'd happened, and you weren't there. You didn't answer any of my calls, or my texts, your dad didn't know where you were… Where the hell did you go?"

"You know what, I've been wondering the same thing," Josh's voice said suddenly, and I looked up from my lap to see him at the door, shutting it quietly. "And don't give me that crap about Stilinski getting beat up by some kids from the other team and you getting yourself involved," he warned, pointing a finger at me. "I ain't stupid; this has something to do with McCall's situation, I know it does."

"Josh!" I hissed, cutting a glance to Danny and his wide eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He'd figure it out eventually," Josh argued, the both of us completely ignoring Danny's head whipping back and forth between the two of us.

"Not if we didn't get him involved."

"Amber, his best friend just died," Josh said, and when I flinched a little, he backtracked. "I'm sorry, that was blunt, but it's true. Jackson's gone, because of this; Danny's already involved."

"Are you saying McCall had something to do with Jackson's death?" Danny asked, leaning forward to interrupt.

"No," I said, shaking my head, and Josh just raised an eyebrow at me.

"He just happens to be involved with everything _surrounding_ Jackson's death," Josh supplied, his challenging gaze never leaving mine.

"What does that even mean?" Danny asked. "We don't even know what happened yet."

"No, but I have a pretty solid idea," Josh answered, turning back to Danny.

"Josh, stop it," I tried, resting my hand on his arm. He sighed. "Jackson got himself caught up in this, and he died because of it."

"He died because someone wanted him dead," Josh argued, and Danny's eyes somehow managed to get wider. "I'm sorry, but from what I've managed to piece together since I found out about all of this, it's obvious his death wasn't some freak accident or another 'animal attack'."

"What are you guys talking about?" Danny cut in, his face a mixture of complete bewilderment and a little bit of terror. "Found out about what?"

Josh widened his eyes at me slightly, urging me on. I did _not_ want Danny in on this. I didn't even want Josh in on this, but he's a smart kid. Saying that, so is Danny. He probably _would_ figure it out, sooner or later. He wouldn't let his best friend's death pass without some explanation, and I couldn't see the police finding a solid one anytime soon. But still, this whole thing was dangerous. I'd lost both my mom and Jackson to it, nearly lost Lydia… I couldn't lose Danny too.

Josh just rolled his eyes at me impatiently, and turned back to Danny with a smile. "Danny, what do you know about lycanthropy?"

* * *

Danny knew a _lot _about lycanthropy, apparently.

In fact, I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that he knew more than Scott and Stiles did, and they're the nearest thing I have to experts on the whole thing. Except for Dr Deaton, I guess, though I really couldn't say how much he knew. The guy was awful cryptic when it came to anything supernatural.

Anyway, Danny.

He took it pretty well, considering. I think he already had an idea that something strange was going on around town, but we just gave him the confirmation he needed. And then, a little while later, when he finally went home, he did so with lighter shoulders than he had entered my room with. Somehow. I don't know how someone can feel _better_ after finding out this kind of stuff, but he did. Maybe it helped things make more sense. I guess that's what it had done for me, even if that knowledge _had_ resulted in hell on earth.

I was led on my bed, Poe curled up in the curve my stomach and legs created in my semi-foetal position, when I heard a sound that shoved my heart up into my throat and my stomach down somewhere between my feet.

Growling.

See, a few months ago, if I'd heard growling nearby, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. I mean, even from my room, animal noises are a perfectly acceptable thing to hear in this part of town, right on the edge of the local nature preserve. But since everything happened and my life did a complete one-eighty, noises one would usually associate with a wolf or other canine creature have a completely different connotation, and not necessarily a positive one. So when I heard that noise, my first reaction was to freeze, and hope the insulated window panes and thick walls muffled my heartbeat enough so whatever, or whoever, had made that noise couldn't hear how fast it was beating.

When the sound finally stopped, I very carefully, and very quietly, stood up from my bed and tiptoed over to the big bay window area in the corner of my room. I didn't see anything at first, just the usual trees and leaf-strewn floor. That was until I caught a flash of blue from between the tree trunks. It was just a flash, and then it was gone, quick enough to have me doubting whether or not I actually saw it. So, of course, I had to go and check.

I know, I know; _bad_ idea, Amber. Before all of this, curiosity was a big part of my personality. I was like one of those people in horror films, when you hear a noise and you go to check it out. Of course, those people always die first, but did that stop me? No, it didn't. I think that knowledge actually fuelled my curiosity. So why should all of this knowledge of the supernatural and all the dangers of the world stop me from finding out what was causing that scratching sound coming from the attic, or the weird child laughter coming from around the corner, or the strange blue lights coming from the woods? Exactly. It shouldn't. Besides, I was a witch, right? Sorry, an _emissary_. Either way, I was a powerful being that could stop werewolf and kanima alike. What did I have to be afraid of?

Right?

I grabbed a pair of Converse, pulled them on over my llama socks, and quietly wandered out of my room and down the stairs. I could hear the television on in the living room, peeked my head around the corner to see Daddy sleeping on the couch, his faint snoring bringing a smile to my face. Turning back around, I made my way down the hall, peeked through the curtains covering the narrow windows on each side of the front door, and finally, quietly, opened it. I pulled it shut behind me, eyeing the driveway and the treeline beyond it carefully as I stepped slowly over to the porch railing. I couldn't see anything, even as I squinted into the darkness and wandered down the porch. Maybe I _had_ imagined it. Maybe the stress of the evening had taken it out of me, and my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I had fallen asleep and I was dreaming all of this.

Or maybe my life had slowly transitioned into a state somewhere between real life and dreaming, and now I wasn't safe in either. That sounded probable.

When I heard a rustling off to my left, beyond the trees that stood directly outside my bedroom window, I whipped around, my breathing quick and shallow and I searched the trees, the shadows, for any movement. Stepping forward, I placed a hand on the railing, leaning further forward to try and see better. And then I heard a sigh behind me.

"You won't find anything truly scary out there, Amber," a terrifyingly familiar voice commented, and there I was, completely frozen in fear once again, as Peter Hale stepped up beside me, leaning against the railing all nonchalant, like he wasn't supposed to be six feet under. "All the real monsters walk among us."

"And I can see you're walking just fine, unfortunately," I managed to get out, my voice trembling to my own ears. He smirked.

"Yes, thanks to your friend Lydia," he said, and I felt myself grimace.

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing that will cause any permanent damage," he tried to assure me. I scoffed. "At least, I hope not. She's a remarkable young woman, after all. I wouldn't want to ruin such potential."

"How is this happening?"

Peter smiled at me, like we were two old friends catching up over a coffee. This guy was definitely a psychopath. "All it takes is the healing abilities of an alpha werewolf mixed with the magic of a full moon, and _bam_, I'm resurrected."

"And Lydia fits into this how, exactly?" I asked him, trying not to look at his face too much.

"Well, she's the puppet, of course," he said, shrugging. "I tell her what to do through hallucinations and threats, and she does it. It's simple, really."

"So you just used and manipulated a vulnerable teenager to your own advantage?"

"It's what I'm best at," he murmured, turning around and leaning back against the railing to look at me better. "Some people are just born with particular… talents, and to survive in this world, in any world, really, one must always use whatever advantages they have at their disposal. I'm sure you can understand that."

"I understand that you need help," I muttered, staring at the trees in front of me.

"I do, actually," he surprised me by admitting, and I finally looked over to him to frown. "Your help, specifically."

"I meant professional help," I clarified, crossing my arms over my shoulder. "Like, a psychologist. I think you would benefit from that kind of treatment."

"Wouldn't we all?" he responded, tilting his head. "But that's not what I meant, and this isn't just a friendly visit."

"I figured," I scoffed, rolling my eyes and turning away.

"Jackson isn't dead."

My head span back to Peter, who was wearing the most earnest expression I'd ever seen on his face. "What?"

"Jackson isn't dead," he said again, and it didn't make any more sense than it had the first time he'd said it. "He's… evolving."

"Evolving?"

"Do I really have to keep repeating myself?"

"I just…" I stopped, not sure what to say. _Evolving_?

"Gerard wanted Jackson to kill himself," Peter explained, sighing at the effort it was costing him. "He knew it would trigger this change in Jackson, and now the kanima is becoming something much more terrifying, much more deadly, and much more unstoppable."

"I don't understand."

"That doesn't matter right now," Peter said, shaking his head. "All you need to know right now is that you need to come with me."

I snorted. "You expect me to just run off with you because you tell me to? You remember all the harassment and murder attempts you subjected my friends and I to, right?"

Peter didn't roll his eyes, or make a snarky comment. Instead, he looked deep into my eyes, his vision not wavering, and I felt the weirdest chill.

"You have to trust me, Amber. We need you," he said quietly, and I _felt_ the sincerity in his words, in his eyes. "Jackson needs you."

And if that wasn't enough to have me following him through the dark preserve, nothing ever would be.

* * *

"How much longer?" I asked Peter as we strolled through the forest. I was suddenly regretting my outfit choice of leggings and a sweater, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it now. Jackson needed me.

"Not far," Peter answered, sounding bored.

"So what will I be doing exactly?" I inquired, quickening my steps to keep up with his long strides. "You never actually explained that part."

"You'll be holding his hand during the therapy sessions," Peter deadpanned, and I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously, where do I come into this? How can I help him?"

Peter growled, and spun on his heels to glare at me. "You _can't_ help him," he said, which didn't really help the confusion. "No one can help him, Amber. All we can do now is stop him before he hurts anyone else."

"So, what… what are you saying?" I asked him, feeling my shoulders slump and my arms drop from around my waist. "You ain't gonna save him?"

"We're going to save him from himself," Peter said quietly, staring at me for a second, almost apologetically, before turning around again and continuing his march. "And the only way to do that is to kill him."

I huffed a little, my breathing shaky, and shrugged, even though Peter couldn't see me. "So what am I doing here? You ain't planning on saving Jackson, so why do you need me?"

"We need you because you're special, Amber," Peter said, stopping again after he realised I wasn't following. "Because I know just how capable you can be at defending yourself, at defending others. Because I heard what you did to Isaac at Scott's house, to Jackson at the station. Because if things go south, you might be the only thing standing between me and dying. Again."

"So what? I develop a few strange powers and now I'm your secret weapon?" I scoffed, shaking my head. He sounded like Gerard.

"You're my backup," Peter corrected me, raising his eyebrows. "Should I need any."

"I'm your backup in case you need help killing my best friend," I pointed out, scoffing. "I really was the last resort on this one, huh?"

Peter huffed. "Listen, Amber-"

"Screw you," I interrupted, shaking my head and sniffing. "You're a total idiot if you honestly think I'd help you kill Jackson."

"I didn't think that for a second," Peter said, shaking his own head and taking a few deliberate steps forward. "But I do know that you will protect yourself and those you love when they're in danger, including from your own best friend."

"So you just figured you'd lie to me to get me there?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow. "What happens now, now that the truth is out in the open? Do you have a backup for _that_?"

"I don't need a backup for that," Peter responded, an awfully confident smirk on his face. "Like I said, you will protect yourself and the ones you love when they're in danger. And your best friend is going to die tonight." My breath caught in my throat, and that seemed to be enough assurance for Peter, because his smile grew cocky. "So whether you like it or not, you're going to follow me, in the same direction we've been going, to the warehouse Jackson is in now, and the second the kanima turns on you, or Scott, maybe even Derek, you're going to do everything you need to do to save them. Even if it means turning on your best friend."

I blinked then, trying to fight off the knowledge that he was right – and failing, by the way – and by the time I opened my eyes and my vision focused again, Peter was gone.

"Dickhead."

* * *

I _finally_ made it to the warehouse, after trekking through the dirt and the leaves by myself for what felt like hours, even though it probably wasn't longer than fifteen minutes. When the massive building finally came into sight through the trees, I heaved a huge sigh of relief and quickened my steps, eager to just get there already. I ran over to what looked like a large garage door, one of those delivery hatches, and barely wondering why it had been left open before speeding up and running through it. It wasn't long before I heard voices, echoing through the building.

"You know that he's gonna kill me right after," I heard Derek growl as I followed the voices. Were they talking about Jackson? Or Peter? "He'll be an alpha." Peter was planning on killing Derek now, to regain his status as alpha? Is that what was happening? God, being out of the loop _sucked_.

"That's true," Gerard answered instead, and I stopped in my tracks to focus on what he was saying. "But I think he already knows that, don't you, Scott? He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison. Do this small task for me, and they can be together." What small task? What was Scott doing for the psychotic Argent elder that even _Derek_ thought was a terrible idea? I started running again, Gerard's voice getting louder and clearer. "You are the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek. And in case you haven't learnt yet, there is just no competing with young love."

"Scott, don't!" I heard Derek cry, just as I rounded a corner and caught sight of Scott's hand on the back of Derek's neck, Gerard approaching the two of them with an outstretched arm. "Don't."

"Scott!" I shouted, his head whipping around to me with wide, surprised eyes. He was holding Derek's head back, his mouth open and teeth bared, fangs inches from Gerard's arm. Scott was going to force Derek to bite Gerard, and turn him. Was he _crazy_? It didn't even make _sense_. I thought Gerard hated werewolves, and now he wanted to become one? "What… what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," Scott said quietly, shaking his head. "But I have to."

"Scott, no!" I screamed, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand in what I guess was a vain, subconscious attempt to stop him. Instead, Scott snapped Derek's mouth shut around Gerard's arm, and he screamed out in pain before Derek fell to the floor. I just stood there, totally dazed, as Gerard's face turned victorious, and he held his arm up for everyone to see the bleeding bite.

Wait, that… that wasn't blood.

"What is this?" Gerard belted, glaring from Scott to the black gloop dripping from the wound. "What did you do?"

"Everyone said Gerard always had a plan," Scott explained, the smallest smile on his face as he looked to Derek, and then up to me. "I had a plan too."

I rushed over to Scott, knelt down beside Derek to help him sit up more steadily, as Gerard pulled out something small and circular from his pocket. "Mountain ash!" he cried, crushing something in his hand.

"What did you do?" I asked Scott, looking up at him from the floor. Scott smiled.

"He has cancer, wanted the bite to cure it. So I switched out his medication for mountain ash," he said.

I heard a choking sound then, and we all turned back to Gerard to see that same black gloop seeping down his face, from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, seconds before is spurted out of his mouth like projectile vomit and he collapsed to the floor. It was such a frightening sight that I almost didn't notice when Derek turned to Scott.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asked, frowning at Scott from his seat on the cold concrete floor.

"Because you might be an alpha," Scott answered. "But you're not mine."

Gerard started crawling then, away from us, from Scott, still spitting up the black blood-like substance. It was so disgusting it made me gag. "Kill them!" he suddenly bellowed through the blood and choking, and my eyes widened when I realised who he was shouting the order to; Jackson. "Kill them all!"

Gerard's face finally slipped to the floor, and everything was still. I looked around, taking in the scene, from Isaac crouched on the floor with blood staining his shirt, to the kanima's clawed hand slowly dropping from Allison's – wait, what was Allison doing here? I really _was_ out of the loop – throat. It was like everything had come to some sort of ceasefire. So I guess the only question left was… What now?

Now, apparently, was the time for Allison to throw her elbow back and smash it into the kanima's face, and just as it recovered and ducked to pounce at her, a resounding crash so loud I had to bring my hands up to cover my ears came from the side, and I had never been more relieved to see that baby blue Jeep, even as its tyres screeched against the concrete and hurtled straight at the kanima with a resounding _thud_.

There were a few seconds of quiet, of the huffs of relieved laughter, before the kanima was back on its feet and catapulting itself up on to the hood of the Jeep and hissing at its occupants. I saw Lydia climb out in a hurry, closely followed by Stiles through the same door, but instead of running over to us like Stiles did, meeting us halfway, Lydia stayed put.

"Jackson," she said, terrified and probably all sorts of confused, but she didn't back away as the kanima turned at the sound of her high voice.

"What the hell is she doing?" Stiles hissed as the kanima drew up to its full height in front of her.

"Jackson," she said again, and Stiles jolted forward towards her as she held something up in front of her face, in front of the kanima's face. I grabbed his arm, stopping him from going any further as Scott reached out to do the same, and when he looked back at me I nodded at the pair of them, at the way the kanima's eyes focused on the key she held. The key to Jackson's house that he had given Lydia a lifetime ago, when werewolves weren't a thing we worried about, and our biggest problem was planning the next party, and they were happy.

"Derek said we needed you to bring Jackson back," Scott murmured beside me, his voice low. "That you were the link to his human side."

I smiled, blinking away the tears in my eyes as the kanima's face started becoming more natural. More Jackson. "There ain't nothing more human than love," I muttered back, too entranced at seeing the scaled recede, at seeing that familiar face again. "And Jackson's never loved anyone the way he loves Lydia. Not even me."

I heard Scott huff a laugh, saw in the corner of my eye as he turned to smile at me, when there was a blur off to my right. It was like everything was in slow motion. One moment, Jackson is staring at Lydia like he's really seeing her again for the first time since they broke up, and everything was beautiful, and the next, Derek is lunging at him with his claws extended, Peter doing the same from behind. They were doing exactly what Peter said they would. They were killing him.

There's this ringing in my ears, and I can't focus on anything but the sight of my best friend on his knees, choking on his own blood, falling into the arms of his first and last love as she weeps for him. And then I can't see anything at all, but I can hear my own cries as I sob into something soft and warm, and, for a second, I lost all sense of anything that matters.

"Amber," I hear someone say softly, and I didn't care who, didn't care what they had to say, but they persisted and pushed at my shoulder from where I realised I was sat on the cold floor. "Amber," they said again, this time much more urgently, and I leant back with sore eyes to look up at Stiles in front of me, to ask what was so important that he interrupt my bawling, but he wasn't looking at me, his attention instead drawn to something in front of him. I followed his gaze, looking over my shoulder to see his Jeep, and Lydia, and Jackson lying on the ground, dead.

And then he sat up.

I watched, completely dumbstruck as he got to his feet, his eyes flashing the brightest blue I think I'd ever seen, before he threw his head back and let out a ground-shaking roar, one that made me shudder as a current ran down my spine and a million questions ran through my head. One stood out more than any other.

"What the fuck just happened?"

* * *

I held my grimoire tight to my chest as I strolled onto the lacrosse field, Stiles' blue Jeep sticking out like a sore thumb against the greens of the grass and the trees around it. I had seen it as soon as I'd pulled into the parking lot that Sunday morning, after a phone call with Scott last night – where he explained everything that had happened, from Jackson being completely and utterly fine, to Boyd and Erica still being missing, despite Mr Argent insisting he had let them go Friday night – had gotten me an invite to their 'help Stiles become good enough at lacrosse to make team captain' training session.

Yeah, because _that_ was likely.

Scott must have heard me coming, what with his super-hearing and all, because he turned in the goal to wave at me. I sent a quick, awkward wave back, and headed for the bleachers.

"What, you're not gonna play?" Stiles called after he'd finally noticed me sitting down.

"No, I'll leave that to the experts," I shot back, smiling at him. "And you."

Stiles rolled his eyes and pretended to laugh, then made a loud noise of outrage when Scott jogged over to the bleachers and dropped down next to me.

"Dude!" Stiles shouted, his arms flying out beside him, and Scott just waved at him like he was trying to get rid of an annoying bug buzzing around his head.

"How's Allison?" Scott asked me once Stiles had decided to stop grumbling at him, and grumble to himself as he followed Scott's footsteps instead.

"Why do I get the feeling that's going to be all you ask me until you two lovers sort this out?"

"Because you're smart, and you know everything," Scott smiled, hoping his very unsubtle flattery would work. It did.

"I do," I hummed, mostly to myself, before huffing and turning to Scott. "She's as good as can be expected," I finally answered him, shrugging. There wasn't really a lot to tell that Scott didn't already know. When Scott had called me this morning and told me about what had happened with Allison's mom, everything had made a little bit more sense; Allison disappearing and barely speaking to anyone since Lydia's party, her apparent alliance with her grandfather to take out Derek and his pack. She was grieving, and when I'd gone to visit her this morning, that was evident. "She's sad, and she's confused, but she's Allison. She's handling it." Scott nodded, a small smile on his face, and I felt my eyes narrowing at him. "Why didn't you tell her about your mom did to you?"

Scott winced. "I didn't want to tell her."

"You didn't want to tell her why her mom died?"

"I didn't want to tell her that her mom was trying to kill me when Derek bit her. All Allison has left of her mom is memories, and I don't want to ruin that."

"So you're going to let her think that Derek just up and bit her mom for no reason one day?" I asked him, and Scott nodded.

"Yes," he said, raising his eyebrows at me. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her any differently."

I groaned, glaring at him for a second while I tried to convince myself that this was a bad idea. Allison's not stupid; she'd figure it out eventually, and then she'd be mad that I lied all this time. But it was either lie or ruin every happy memory Allison had of her mom. "Fine," I finally grunted. I could handle Allison's wrath if it meant avoiding making this time for her any worse that it needed to be. "Fine, I won't tell her the truth. I'll continue lying to her until you say otherwise.

"Thank you," Scott smiled.

"Are you okay?" I asked him. From the way his face fell just slightly, I knew he knew I was talking about the break up.

"I'm fine," he said, as though he was trying to convince himself. "This isn't the end for us. We're gonna be together in the end, I know it."

I nodded, smiling. I really hoped that was the case.

"Great," I heard Stiles' mutter from Scott's other side. "Can we get back to practising now? I wanna be team captain next season."

"Good for you, Stiles," I smiled, leaning around Scott to pat Stiles encouragingly on the arm. "It's good to dream, even incredibly unrealistic dreams."

"You're so funny, Wilson," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes at me. "Why don't you run along home and do some more research on magic you're not capable enough to do?"

"Not capable enough to do _yet_," I corrected, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Which actually brings me to my next point of conversation. I'm going back to Nashville for the summer."

"What?" Scott asked immediately, his eyes widening. "Why?"

"There's a few reasons," I said, wincing a little. "The main one being that Daddy still thinks Beacon Hills is making me crazy. He was contemplating moving back entirely, but Josh and I managed to bring it down to just the summer. He thinks being around family might be good for me."

"He might be right," Stiles agreed, tipping his head. "Deaton said your uncle is in on all this witchy business, right?" I nodded. "Maybe he can help you learn to control it."

"That's what I'm hoping," I admitted. "Otherwise, I think I'm screwed."

"So, you're gonna be gone the entire summer?" Scott asked her, and I smiled a little. I had a feeling I was going to be missed.

"Yeah," I answered, nodding slowly. "I'm gonna spend some time with my family, with myself, and hopefully, by the time I get back here, I'll have a better handle on all of this magic stuff. No offence, Scott, but I don't really want to die anytime soon, and it seems to almost happen to you a lot."

"It really does," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Oh, would you look at that?" Stiles laughed suddenly. "Here I am, hoping and dreaming of being a better lacrosse player, and I'm sat right in front of a lacrosse field," he exclaimed, and Scott rolled his eyes in my direction. I couldn't help but smile. "All I need now is a best friend who just so happens to be incredibly good at lacrosse. He doesn't even have to be human, just a brill-"

"Yeah, okay Stiles, I get it," Scott muttered, standing up and probably rolling his eyes again when Stiles jumped up next excitedly behind him. I smiled a little at the two of them as they shoved each other onto the field, and it freaked me out a little when I realised I was smiling at them _fondly_. So I decided to completely ignore that realisation, reach into my bag to pull out my ink pen and open up the grimoire in my lap to the new entry on kanimas. I figured it might come in handy one day.

"Hey, you know what I just realised?" Scott wondered aloud as he positioned himself in goal. "I'm right back where I started."

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked, him, twirling the lacrosse stick in his hands.

"I mean no lacrosse, no popularity, no girlfriend. Nothing."

"Dude, you still got me," Stiles argued, waving a hand.

"I had you before."

"Yeah, and you still got me. Okay?" Stiles said, like that was all Scott would ever need. It probably was. "It's a life fulfilled."

"Very," I heard Scott mutter with a laugh.

"You have me too," I cut in, and Stiles huffed as he lowered the stick again. "I mean, mostly."

"That's true," Scott admitted, tipping his head. "You hated us before."

"Nah, Scotty, I didn't hate you," I said, shaking my head. "Now _Stiles_, on the other hand…"

"And how I yearn for the days when you thought me too unworthy of the grace of your presence. Now shut up and get back to your magic book."

"It's a grimoire," I corrected.

"Poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh," he muttered, shaking his head. "Now remember," he said, this time to Scott, who grinned. "No wolf powers."

"Got it," Scott said, with a quick nod of his head.

"No, I mean it," Stiles said, standing up straight to pin Scott with a pleading look. "No super-fast reflexes, no super eyesight, no hearing; none of that crap, okay?"

"Okay, come on."

"You promise?" Stiles asked, and I couldn't help but picture him as a five year old with his pinky out.

"Would you just take the shot already?" Scott moaned, and Stiles glared doubtfully at him for a second before he raised his lacrosse stick. While Stiles' eyes were distracted by the ball in the net, checking that it was in prime position for the best throw possible, Scott turned to me for the briefest of seconds; just long enough to send me a golden-eyed wink. I grinned, and Stiles launched the ball towards the net. Of course, Scott caught it without the slightest hesitation or blip, and I giggled loudly when Stiles began to swear.

"I said no wolf powers!"

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**A/N: And that's it, my lovely readers. Thank you for sticking with this story and enjoying it, all the follows, favourites and reviews made my day, every time I saw them.**

**Next season is going to be in a new story, as this one was, and I'm starting to wish I'd called S3 Occult now, but whatevs. Anyway. Instead of every Wednesday, I'll be updating every other Wednesday, only because I flew through this season, and I don't want to do the same thing for the rest of the seasons, because I'll eventually run out of episodes, so… Every other Wednesday is now the update day, so check it out. I'll update this story with another chapter, like I did last time, just to let you all know when the new story is up. So, for the final time this story…**

**Thanks for the continued support guys, and I'll see you next time.**


	12. Empty Casket III: Gods & Monsters

**Hey guys. The newest chapter of _Empty Casket_ is coming up TONIGHT, so make sure you keep an eye out for it. Here's a little teaser of the first chapter. Enjoy...**

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I nodded to myself. _I can do this_, I thought, closing my eyes as I held my hand a few inches off the deer's stomach. _It's just a friendly neighbourhood dog that I'm petting, that's all. An _alive_, friendly neighbourhood dog. There's absolutely nothing for me to be freaked or grossed out about here._ _And that's not the blood of an adorable wild animal you smell at all, you just have a copper penny stuck up your nose. Yeah, that's all. No bloody dead animals around here._ I heard myself whine again, and then I heard Stiles groan, seconds before a weight dropped down onto the top of my hand and forced it onto the deer.

At first, I freaked out. I could feel the short, coarse hair of the deer, the cooling body, and it sent shivers down my spine. But then a second later, it was gone. Instead, I was running. I was running fast through trees, the wind whipping against my face, the occasional stray branch stinging as it hit my skin. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Lord, I was scared. I'd never been so scared in my life. If I weren't running, I'd say I was petrified by the ice-cold fear I felt in my veins, but as it were I just did my best to ignore the fear and my pounding heart and just keep running. There was something coming, I could tell. I didn't know what, but it was powerful, terrifying, and every sense, every nerve in my body was telling me to run, to keep running, to get as far away from this place as possible. So I did. I ran. I ran, and I kept running, not once looking back, not even caring where I was going. As long as I got away from here, that's all that mattered. I needed to get away. I was so frightened, and I didn't know why; I just wanted to rest, to sleep, maybe to cry, but I had to keep running. I needed to keep running. I needed to get away.

When Stiles lifted my hand, it felt like I was being ripped away. It wasn't painful, in the typical sense, but I felt like something was wrong. Like when you take down a poster from your bedroom wall, and there's that one bit of sticky tac that won't come off, like it's ingrained itself into the wall. I was the wall, and the deer, the intense feelings of terror and confusion, those last few moments of its life – they were the sticky tac.


End file.
